


Healing

by ape975



Series: Comfort Zone [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-14 06:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15382488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ape975/pseuds/ape975
Summary: Jessica can't seem to let go of the nagging idea Matt Murdock might be alive. When she tracks him down she gets more than she bargained for."Healing yourself is connected with healing others."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this one right after Jessica Jones season 2, so plot is consistent up to there. I have this story mostly finished, just doing some editing now. I wanted to post the first chapter to gauge interest/ opinions so I can continue to edit the future chapters as needed. Please let me know what you think and if the writing style I chose is working! I write fanfic on and off but have never posted until now. Since this is a small fandom I figured having some new material might be a good idea. The first chapter is short on purpose so future ones can be edited as necessary.

It was a quiet night at Alias Investigations. All pictures of adulterous spouses had long since been sent to her clients, their corresponding pay checks already spent at the bodega. She opens her second whiskey as the warm summer breeze wafts through the open window behind her, the smell of the streets assaulting her senses. Hell’s Kitchen in the summer carries a thick scent of rotting subways, sweat, and various food trucks mingled together. She breathes it in deeply before taking a long pull directly from the bottle, feeling its warmth spread through her whole body.

It seemed no matter how much whiskey she had this evening, it wouldn’t quiet the questions that had been floating in her mind ever since that day. The day at midland circle. The questions had gotten louder in the solitude, they couldn’t be drown by whiskey or anything else, regardless of how hard she tried. How many people had she known to come back from the dead in the past few years? Her life had gotten strange enough that she had multiple examples. Most of those were not for the better. A mind controlling psychopathic rapist. A crazy ninja woman. Her brain damaged mother. Luke. Hell, even herself. Why not someone deserving of a resurrection?

So this is how she ended up sitting amongst a pile of family trees, lists of friends, bank statements, credit reports, and any information she could gather on a lost life, no matter how seemingly insignificant. She leans back in her chair, feet up on her desk, siping from the bottle of Wild Turkey while she searches through his past and the details of his death. It is late, the streets outside her window as quiet as Hell’s Kitchen ever gets. She needed the distraction of this crazy research since Oscar and Vido had moved to the suburbs. It had been what, two weeks now? Even though she encouraged him when he got a job in Westchester, she couldn’t get past how quiet the whole apartment building had become the day they moved out. They brought a vibrance with them, that in their absence only served to highlight all the ugly isolation of the building.

Their leaving had also allowed the flashbacks to come back with a vengeance, as they were always made worse by the quiet. Without Trish, Malcolm, or Oscar’s distractions all these crazy questions floating around in her head were the only things keeping the spiraling memories at bay. Her mother was right, the self imposed isolation wasn’t living. So here she was, trying. It just turns out learning how to live was harder than she thought.

She loved a good puzzle, it’s what drove her to be a PI in the aftermath of Killgrave. Even back then in the darkest of times her work was the only thing that could ground her to reality. This time though, this was more to her than just a puzzle needing to be solved. Why did she care so much about him? We’re talking about a man she knew less than a week, a man she could describe in 1,000 different ways. A man she argued with incessantly. A man who made her uncomfortable with his strange senses. A man who had nearly as fucked up a past as her, which should be enough in itself to scare her off. His whole family gone. A crazy, mind controlled ex girlfriend. Constantly alienating everyone who tried to be close to him. Running around beating up thugs on the streets in spandex. Martyring himself under a building so the rest of them could get out alive. Most of all, he wasn’t the type of person who could just give up on someone he loved. No matter how strong willed, batshit crazy that person was.

She probably cared so much because half of those reasons that should make her run in the opposite direction are actually common points between them. Looking at him was often like seeing her own reflection in a mirror. Or maybe deep down she was simply hoping for an end to the isolation that was slowly drowning her.

Just as she was about to give up to lay in her bed until sleep claimed her she found the missing piece- an empty bank account. Slowly withdrawn over several weeks after midland circle, with a signature that simply read “Maggie”. Where did she know that name from? Willing her sleep fatigued brain to recover information discovered hours before, she cruised through her open tabs. When she found the family tree, dating all the way back to Irish ancestors, was when it all clicked together. Margaret Murdock. “Maggie”.

She tries not to get her hopes up. It could be nothing. A natural inheritor, being his only living kin. Foggy would have done right by his legacy. Even so, with a renewed vigor she starts tracking down everything she can find about “Maggie”.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking liberties with the timeline between The Defenders and Jessica Jones season 2

The next morning she wakes up half sprawled on her desk with a crook in her neck and a mission. She rolls her neck around to loosen the muscles, her shoulders tight. As she shakes off the blur of sleep her eyes focus on her computer, noticing the time as 11am. She had set an alarm for 9am, where did her damn phone go? She pats around her desk until she finds it under piles of paperwork with a dead battery. Oh well, not like she has anyone to call. She pulls on fresh jeans, tank top, and jacket, barely remembering to toss the phone on a charger before storming out the door. It slams shut behind her, nearly stripping the screws. Again.

It hadn’t taken long to track down Maggie once she discovered the bank statements. She laughed out loud to discover she had become a nun after leaving Jack Murdock. Always back to the Catholicism with him. She storms through the hallway into the elevator, her sunglasses giving her cover from the ever judging eyes of Malcolm as he heads back to his own apartment. He must have had a long night if he was only getting back now, but that wasn’t her problem.

As soon as she left the building she seamlessly blends into the crowd of people making their way through Hell’s Kitchen. One of her favorite benefits of city living was the anonymity. She could easily disappear, becoming no more than just another body in the sea of faces that made up NYC. She didn’t stand out, wasn’t “gifted” or “special”, became just another person trying to survive this god damn city.

The church was closer than expected, she was hoping to spend several more blocks gathering her thoughts. Now that she was here she was not sure how to approach this situation without coming off as crazy. She looked at the surrounding buildings and saw a fire escape she could perch on, just to observe and plan, before she ran into a church to accuse a nun of hiding her supposedly dead son.

Jumping up effortlessly onto her perch she opens up her go bag. Pulling out her flask first and taking a large gulp she scoped out the windows to the church. All open without shades, summer made a PI’s job much easier. She notices movement behind one of the ground floor windows. Grabbing her camera and attaching the long lens she focuses in on the window. She sees 3 nuns standing over a bed. They seem to be removing bandages from a patient that she cannot see the face of. There is a bowl of bloody water that one nun is ringing out washcloths in. Another nun comes to the door and motions for the 3 to follow her. As they abandon their task and step away from the bed she feels her blood turn cold in her veins. What she sees in the bed causes her to take a sharp breath in, unable to believe her eyes. She was right. These past few weeks of work were not the spiraling hallucinations of a belligerent, alcoholic lunatic. It is real. He is real. Alive. Matthew Murdock, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, is laying in the bed.

\---------

Deep breaths. Main Street. Birch Street. Higgins Drive. Cobalt Lane. As much as she had hoped for this she was not prepared for the implications. She could feel herself slipping. Her chest was tightening rapidly, causing her to breathe in short gasps. Her fingers were numb and shaking uncontrollably, her eyes felt like they were glued open. She knew if she closed them even for a second she would hear the voice of Killgrave, see his face, feel his touch. The paranoia was all consuming. What if he wasn’t Matt anymore? What if the Hand controlled him now? What if he were different like her mom? Or worse, what if he was like Killgrave? She hated herself for thinking that last thought, but when she spiraled she spiraled hard. Her hands shook so hard she nearly dropped her flask as she lifted it up to her lips. She took 3 large gulps before her breathing settled. When her heart rate slowed and she could think rationally she went over the possibilities in her mind, the way that fancy therapist Trish had found tried to teach her. If he was brought back by the hand he wouldn’t be injured. Judging by the bowl of bloodied water and the bandages covering his torso he was most certainly injured. If he had abilities? Matt was the best man out of all of them. Completely unselfish, a martyr even. There was no way even if he developed something like Killgrave’s powers that he would use them in the same way. What if he were different? Well there was one way to find out. She could either run from her problems or face them, and she was done running.

With a new set of purpose she scaled down the building and stomped across the street to the window. She refuses to let moments like that make her lose her balance anymore. They might shake her, but she will not fall. Progress. When she is sure no one is watching she leaps up through the window and finds herself standing across from a bandaged and bloodied Matt Murdock. 

He barely reacts to her entrance, a small twitch of the head his only acknowledgement to her noisey entrance. Pausing to take in her surroundings she can hear the voices of the nuns getting farther away. Once they are out of earshot she tests her luck by stepping closer, creaking a broken floor board.

“Who’s there? Sister Maggie?” He starts in the bed, whipping his head around wildly, crying out in pain when he tries to sit up. She creeps up to the bed as quietly as she can manage.

“Murdock you know it's me.”

“What? Who?”

Ok, so he had to be delirious. He could identify familiar people from blocks away. He should have smelled her or heard her or whatever he got from his freaky senses by now. Her heart clenched, this was bad then. She wasn’t sure how to communicate with a delirious, injured blind man. She felt a wave of sympathy rise in her chest as he continued to flail, it looked painful. Think Jones, how to communicate, you have to calm him down. Out of a sudden instinct, she grabbed his hand and raised it to her face, hoping to stop him from hurting himself. He stilled almost immediately, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbones, taking in what he could feel.

“Its me Matt, Jessica.”

“Jessica- Jessica Jones? In a church?”

“Yeah it's me, you asshole. You better appreciate the fact I came into a church to find you.”

He merely smiled at that and she saw him relax slightly. Her eyes took him in up close, bandages covered nearly every inch of his torso. What she could see of his skin was a pale white base with bruises of every shade painted on top. It was a mottled look, reminding her of an expensive art piece she had seen hanging in a museum. His head was wrapped in gauze, maybe he had a head injury? The longer she stood the more awkward she felt. She turned to grab a chair, dropping their enclosed hands to his bed. As soon as his hand left her face he immediately tensed, clutching her hand for dear life.

“Murdock relax I am not going anywhere, go to sleep. You need it.”

She settled the chair in close to the bed since he clearly had no intention of letting go of her. It seemed the panic from before was over taking him. He started shaking and breathing erratically, making small gasping noises. Slowly, she moved her other hand up to cup his face. He flinched initially, startling her again. He was never surprised by anyone, he always ‘saw’ people coming long before they touched him. She was starting to get the impression that his senses weren’t at his normal baseline, maybe that was causing the delirium? Despite his flinching she moved her hand up to card through his hair. It seemed to soothe him, as he leaned into the touch and let out a long breath. She watched his body relax again, his breathing falling into the slow rhythm of sleep. 

From their brief time together she had noticed how tactile his communication could be. Being observant of others was something she prided herself on, and she had taken note that if he were having a serious conversation it almost always involved touching the other person. Without his sight he must find touch to be another form of communication in his world. 

Yet, he carefully avoided such contact with her, at least without her explicit consent. A memory flash over her mind, Matt asking to use her elbow for guidance in the police station. The way he hesitated before asking, the way he held her arm so lightly. Maybe he was as observant as she tried to be.

Several hours later she was still sitting there, in a church, holding the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen’s hand and running her fingers through his hair to soothe his nightmares. Or at least it looked like he was having nightmares, not like she could be sure. Everytime she so much as shifted he would panic, his full body preparing for a fight. So here she sat, unsure of what to do. It should be awkward since she hardly knew him. She definitely shouldn’t be holding a vigil beside his bed like this. But here she was, doing the best she could to comfort him. If she were still speaking to Trish she knew there would be an ‘I told you you had this in you’ thrown her way.

His sleep allowed her time to take in his surroundings for him. It was a real church, with old mahogany moldings and peeling 60s flowered wallpaper. She had checked for criminal connections before she came, it was definitely not owned by the Hand or Fisk, and relied on small donations from its parishioners to get by. That is probably why Sister Maggie had to delve into Matt’s bank account for the treatments she saw laying before her. He was hooked up to 2 IVs that had fluids running constantly through them, but what the fluids were she could not decipher. There was oxygen tubing in his nose and from the sound it was turned up high. He was dressed only in a pair of grey joggers, his left leg was splinted from the toes up to the hip. The hip appeared to have been dislocated and realigned, she recognized the bruising and swelling. There were too many stitches littering his skin to count.

When Sister Maggie finally came back to check on Matt she dropped the water bowl out of surprise at the sight of Jessica. Matt jerked awake at the sound, starting a coughing fit that looked like agony. His face was tight with his eyes screwed shut. Maggie rushed across the room to push a syringe into the IV line.

“No, no pain meds- no no no!” Matt whispered in a hoarse voice.

“Matty, this will make you feel better!” Was the only response the sister gave while she fumbled with the line.

A vague memory came to Jessica. In one of the few times she saw the group they had all decided to drink to Matt’s honor. They told stories and reminisced, or at least the others did. She drank and listened. Claire had talked about how sick Matt would get from pain meds, so aspirin was his ‘catholic morphine’. Disoriented, dizzy, and nauseated wasn’t worth the pain relief to him. Narcotics sent him into his own type of sensory hell. His delirium suddenly made complete sense.

“Hey, he said no meds.”

“Oh deary he is too ill to know what's best.”

She looked to Matt’s face. Despite his unseeing eyes he was always so damn expressive. Now his eyes were wide and darting toward her face, eyebrows furrowed, mouth in a tight line. It felt as though he were pleading with her to save him.

“He said no” She said forcefully, staring the woman down until she physically shrunk back. “What else do you have him on?”

“These bags are just saline. We give him the pain meds when he wakes up. He never seems to sleep well, I was hoping the meds would give him some relief.” Maggie looks down as she replies.

“Narcotics make him sick. Can you give him a NSAID instead?” Having nursed many a hangover she was familiar with the common pain relievers she thought Matt would approve of.

Matt had relaxed a bit in her hands but still had a look of sheer panic on his face. She squeezed his hand to communicate she got the message. He gave brief nod of his head back to her, she was getting better at this form of communication.

“He is our patient, we will treat him as we see necessary. How did you get in here anyway, what do you want?”

Suddenly a moan escaped Matt’s lips as he whispered incoherently. She was growing more and more concerned about his mental state on the pain relievers. The nuns had no idea what they were dealing with, and his wishes clearly were not being taken seriously. She can’t leave him here, this isn’t what he would want.

She stands as she makes a split second decision “Then he is no longer your patient. Thanks for your help but we will be going now. Matt? This is going to hurt for a minute, but I promise to be gentle.”

Matt’s head cocked to one side as he processed her statement. She removes the IV lines and O2 tubing quickly. Before Maggie can protest she lifts him quickly into her arms. He gives one small gasp of surprise before passing out from the pain. She jumps out the window in a flash.


	3. Chapter 3

What the hell had she done? She had gone to find information on Murdock’s death, get some closure for herself and his friends, and in less than 6hrs she had found him alive, kidnapped him forcefully from a band of nuns, and set him up for recovery in her bed. This was a mistake, she really had gone crazy.

As she realizes she is in over her head he is writhing in her sheets and moaning incoherently. Her touching trick seemed to have worn its welcome, now even small touches cause him agony, and he is way too disoriented to interpret her voice or commands. She needs help. Grateful she had actually placed her phone on its charger before she left she grabs it and dials.

Pick up Claire. Please pick up.

“Hi Jessica, long time no talk”

“Claire, I need you.”

To Claire’s credit she doesn’t even pause before answering “Ok let me grab my medical bag, where are you?”

“My apartment- it's not for me but its serious. Bring Luke and Danny and whatever medical equipment you can find. And hurry.”

She hangs up without waiting for a response when she hears a slam in the bedroom. She runs down the hallway, sliding to a stop in front of her bedroom to take in the sight of her poor decision. 

The first sense that is assaulted is her nose, the smell of sick is pungent in the deep heat of a Hell’s Kitchen summer. When she gets past that she sees that Matt has topled out of bed. He is vomiting on her floor, tangled in her sheet and covered in his own vomit. Several of his stitches have opened and he is drenched in blood. This was a terrible idea, he should be back to the nuns and their pain meds. Maggie was right, he definitely wasn’t in the right state of mind to make a decision like this and she shouldn’t have tried to help. She only ever made things worse when she tries to help other people. “Murdock, Claire is coming. It's going to be ok” Her voice is weak, even she doesn’t believe the lies she’s telling him.

His only response is to continue vomiting. He couldn’t even sit up straight so he was now covered in it. The smell is overwhelming her, bringing on her own nausea. Turning her face up in search of fresh air she sees the sun setting, it feels like a million years since she had left the apartment in search of Maggie. Wiping her forehead she can feel sweat dripping from her hairline. She closes her eyes and pauses, letting the fear overwhelm her. Main Street. Birch Street. Higgins Drive. Cobalt Lane. The mantra pulls her back to reality and tampers down the fear, clearing her head enough to make a plan. He needs to be clean for Claire to examine him.

As she gets to work cleaning him up she slowly unwinds the bandages, tossing them into a pile on the floor. She moves down to his hip to remove the vomit covered splint with a knife, knowing Claire will need access to that especially. The second she touches it she receives a genuine scream of pain which nearly makes her flinch back from its intensity.

“Murdock it's going to be fine, I just have to clean this up. You don’t want to stay covered in vomit do you?”

When he doesn’t reply she takes it as tacit permission to keep going. Using the knife she cuts off the split and pants, leaving him in his boxers. Taking another bucket and some soap from the bathroom she wets a washcloth and starts running it over his face.

“I hope you like lavender, its all I have” As soon as it slips from her lips she feels stupid, but also feels like she has to keep him talking, just to make sure he is real. Rinsing the washcloth in the bucket she watches as the water turns red from blood and bile. She scrubs his whole body clean before standing to change the sheets while he lays exposed on the floor. She gets an even better look at the deep bruises and lacerations that litter his body, all in various stages of healing. Many of the stiches had burst so she gets to work at removing the rest, hoping it will save Claire time once she gets there. The cuts look clean, the nuns must have been keeping them from getting infected. She drips a small amount of whiskey on a clean cloth to disinfect the lacerations. By the time she is finished he has stopped bleeding, vomiting, and looks spent. As gently as she can she lifts him up, laying him down in the center of her bed this time. His face is still contorted in a grimace of pain that she does not like. Fumbling around she grabs a pillow from her closet to prop his bad leg on. When he relaxes slightly she feels better.

She had just placed an empty bucket near his head when she hears a knock come at her door.

“I’ll be right back, that’s Claire.” She says as she covers him with a fresh sheet, tossing the old one into the pile of vomit covered rags.

Rushing through the apartment to the door she practically trips over the junk that litters her floors. When she rips open the door Claire is standing alongside Luke and Danny, all looking a little apprehensive. She had only seen any of them briefly after Midland Circle, had never called them like this before. It was certainly awkward for all involved.

“You ok? You don’t look hurt.” Luke breaks the ice, as always.

“I’m fine, it's not me. Its-”

Just then Matt lets out a scream that makes them all flinch. Claire goes into full blown nuse mode and moves to rush past her, Jessica barely catching her arm.

Claire gives a look of exasperation “You called me to help someone, let me help.”

“Before you go in there, you all need to know something…” She had no idea how to say it. How do you explain you kidnapped a supposedly dead friend from a church?

Before she could figure it out Claire ripped away from her hold- damn that woman could be determined for someone without extra strength. She follows as Claire walks determinedly down the hall, clearly remembering the lay out of her apartment. As she rounds the corner she stops dead at the bedroom door, dropping her bag and raising her hand to her mouth to cover her gasp. Jessica stops then, feeling a change in the air between the two, as though she is interrupting a private moment. 

“M-Matt?” Was all Claire could muster up. Jessica watches her shoulders start to shake with sobs while Luke, not seeming to feel the same change Jessica does, storms past to hold up his girlfriend. He does a quick double take on Matt before turning to Jessica with a look of bewilderment. 

“I’ve been trying to track him down for a while now, like a side project. I found him while following a hunch this morning. He was in a church being cared for by nuns. They had him drugged up on some painkillers. He asked me to help him, so I brought him back here. He needs your help Claire.”

Hearing her name seems to shake Claire from her stupor. She reaches for her bag and rushes into the bedroom. Luke steps tp the side as Jessica walks in, Danny following quietly behind her.

“The Hand can bring people back-” Danny starts before Jessica interrupts

“I know, that’s not what happened. I’ve spent weeks tracking him down. Elektra must’ve gotten him out. I found her social security card active and charging credit for trips around the world.” She gestures back to Matt “His bank account was slowly being drained by someone named Maggie. A little detective work lead me to Sister Maggie and… there he was. The Hand didn’t do this, he wouldn’t be hurt if he was brought back from the dead.” She leaves out who Sister Maggie is, feeling its not her secret to tell.

Luke and Danny just nod, seeming to have difficulty absorbing all this. Jessica turns to Matt. He continues moaning and shaking in the sheets while Claire slowly examines him.

“Did they give him narcotics?”

Jessica nods

“He is definitely withdrawing, which if what he tells me about his senses is true will be a good thing for him in the end. But for now he is going to be pretty miserable. It looks like he has a lot of broken bones that have healed. His hip was dislocated and reset manually, that takes a while to heal. The lacerations were deep but they are nearly healed now. He has a few broken ribs that are on their way to mending. He will be much more comfortable with some ibuprofen, but the withdrawal will probably last about 2 weeks. He’s in for a rough road.”

“Looks like he’s already had one” Jessica scoffs 

Luke looks at her with that face of disapproval, causing the familiar sense of guilt Luke always invokes in her. She takes a long pull from her flask and looks back to Matt. He is shaking violently, which can’t feel good on his ribs, and lets out a sharp scream. Claire pales, looking almost as bad as Matt.

“There’s really not much I can do. Make sure he drinks water, make him some broth, and give him 3 ibuprofen every 4hrs.” Claire says as she packed up her bag, small tears running down her face.

“Claire-” Luke starts

“NO. I can’t do this. This is why I couldn’t be with him, I can’t watch him self destruct. I won’t do it. You don’t get it- I GRIEVED him!”

“We just got him back. He needs us.” Luke is looking at her pointedly but Claire just pushes past him back to the hallway, trying to make it out the door. Jessica rushes past Luke to stop her, throwing her arm in front of the woman as a block.

“We ALL grieved him. We all lost him, yet you are the only one abandoning him now that we have him back. You’re a nurse and he could be dying. You have to help him.” her voice shaking from her barely contained rage.

She watches as Claire takes a deep breath, willing her practical side to overcome her emotions “He’s not dying, he doesn’t have any fatal injuries. He just needs time and rest. The withdrawal is going to be the worst part, his senses are going to bounce back and forth between overly stimulated and not functioning. He is going to be delirious. He is going to be truly blind, especially if he loses his hearing. His sense of touch is so delicate he is going to be in agony for weeks from that hip injury without narcotics to dull it. I can’t stay for that. I won’t watch him self destruct.”

Jessica’s eyes darken, her tongue spewing venom “I don’t know what type of nurse you think you are, that you can leave a friend who has saved your life to suffer like this.” But her words don’t stop Claire from shoving her way out the door.

“Jess-” Luke interrupts, pushing past her to follow Claire.

“Don’t worry about it Luke. I’ll take care of him.” Even to her the voice she uses sounds more resigned than confident. How was she going to do this alone? Luke just nods in response, closing the door behind him.

The slam of the door causes her whole body to deflate in exasperation. She walks back into her bedroom to find a very confused looking Danny, rooted in place, staring pensively at Matt.

“You just gonna stand there looking pretty or are you going to help iron pants?”

“Uh yeah sure, whatever he needs. What can I do?”

“I don’t have most of the things Claire told me to give him, go to the bodega across the street. They won’t ask questions if you buy a bunch of bandages, ibuprofen, and weird food. See if you can find him a some shirts and sweats too” She wasn’t sure what Claire had said anymore, really hoped Danny would remember. It was a silly task, but she needs him out of her space while she made a plan.

He shifts on his feet awkwardly before finally pushing off the wall to head out. He looks back at Jessica for a second “Text me if you think of anything else, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Whatever”

Once she hears the door close she moves toward the bed. The injuries still looked ghastly despite Claire’s nonchalant assessment. She watches as he starts gagging and rolls him to his side to aim to the bucket. His whole body is clammy with sweat. When his spell reduces to merely dry heaving she moves him back to the middle of the bed, propping his bad leg on the pillow. Reaching into her drawer she pulls out a bottle of ibuprofen and shoves it quickly down his throat, hoping he is done vomiting for long enough for it to absorb and get some relief. She goes to stand up but feels his hand grab her arm, surprisingly strong. She suppresses the natural flinch that comes with being grabbed like that, reminding herself that he needs the contact. Sparks fly from the point of contact, and she has to concentrate hard on all the reasons she has to keep in his hold.

“I am not going anywhere Murdock, you kinda hijacked my bed. Get some rest, I will be right here.” She sees him relax at that, letting out a long breath. She sits back against the headboard, shifting until she is comfortable enough to spend the night like that. She reaches for her flask and drains it, her nerves have no place here tonight. He gently shifts his grip on her hand down to her wrist over her pulsepoint. Watching as his breathing evens out she concentrates on keeping her own steady, wishing she could will her heart rate steady for him as well. As he drifts off she feels herself slipping into sleep as well.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning I start to change POVs here, let me know how it works. I swap back and forth through the rest of the story and if it doesn't work well here I can change it in future chapters!

When she wakes up just a few hours later she realizes there are two men in her bed. She blinks to clear her eyes to see Danny lying asleep on the other side of Matt. He had come back. Well at least one of these group members could be relied on. Maybe.

 

As she shakes off sleep she realizes she had woken up because Matt was breathing heavy and clutching at her side. Shifting in her seated position she rotates to shake him awake. As she does he throws a punch about two feet from her head. It would have been preferable to be hit head on, at least then she would know he was getting more coherent. She easily grabs his fist to restrain him.

 

“Where am I. Who’s there?”

 

“Murdock, its Jessica. We’ve been over this. You’re in my apartment. You’ve been sick, we’re getting you better. And you don’t sock the person trying to save you” She says through gritted teeth.

 

He responds by moving his head back and forth wildly, as if doing so would clear his foggy mind. Looking around she sees Danny put the necessary water and meds on the nightstand before he fell asleep. He had even gotten dramamine,  _ good thinking iron clad. Maybe there is hope for you yet. _

 

“Matt, I need you to take some meds. They will make the dizziness stop.”

 

“No meds, can’t hear well, can’t get my balance, meds did this” His speech is choppy, matching his effort to breathe.

 

“Not these meds, they will help. Trust me”

 

His face contorts into a thoughtful look. “I trust you” he says as though the statement was as surprising to him as it was to her. She raises the water bottle to his lips and he drinks greedily in large gulps. Pulling back the bottle she raises the pills to his lips. Tentatively, he swallows the pills then finishes off the bottle. The effort seems to drain him entirely. His head collapses back to the pillow, his arms shaking as he pulls the sheets back over his body. “Thank you” his voice shakes as he speaks. She nods then leans back against the headboard again. Sleeping sitting up was going to give her one hell of a tight neck, but he only gripped her hand harder when she attempted to shift.

\------

Danny slept through the whole night- lucky bastard. Claire was definitely right that Matt needed these meds every four hours. He woke her religiously on the four hour mark, screaming and panting next to her. He only fought her once more over the meds before he realized how much better he felt after the doses. 

 

She sits up against the headboard, feeling the exhaustion seep into her bones. Her neck is tight from two nights of poor sleeping positions. Matt still has an iron grip on her hand, wrapped up in the sheet she threw off herself in the stifling heat of her bedroom. She watches out the window as the sun rises over the three of them in the bed. As the light comes through the window the heat follows, that in combination with the body heat is making her bedroom a sweat box. Sweat drips down her neck, soaking into her hair. She needs a cold shower and a fresh bottle of whiskey, but she can’t wrangle away from Matt’s grip.

 

Keeping her head turned to watch the sunrise helps her avoid seeing just how bad Matt actually looks. He’s pale, covered in a cold sweat. His whole body shakes in small spurts and she can’t tell which senses of his are working and which aren’t. He is clutching her hand for dear life, nails digging into her skin. She tries very hard to calm the anxiety that touch is invoking in her body, willing her mind to concentrate anywhere else. Listen to the street noises. Count the nails in the floorboards. Anything to prevent the panic threatening to over take her.

 

At 7am he sits bolt upright with a screech, letting go of her hand. It sends a streak of false hope through her. Sitting up for the first time had to be good, right?

 

“Jessica?” He says in a small whisper, reaching directly in front of him with both hands, wobbling a bit. It almost looks like the way she wakes up from nightmares. He clearly has no idea where he is, again. Half the time he wakes up he is coherent, the other half she spends explaining the whole situation again and again until he passes out. Throughout the night, and a lot of trial and error, she had figured out a few ways to coax him back into sleep. Her most successful tactics still involved her touching him. She had come to realize just how much he relied on his sense of touch to orient himself to his world over the course of the night. It seems as though once he can feel another person he can regain his hold on the world. She gently touches his arm and slides her other hand up the small of his back, drawing small circles there to ground him. “Matt I’m right here.”

 

There is a significant pause but she waits patiently. She’s too afraid to scare him, knows what it’s like to wake up from a nightmare in a strange place. It takes a minute to come back to earth.

 

“I can’t hear. Anything. At all.”

 

Oh shit. Claire wasn’t exaggerating. 

 

“I just- I just” he starts before he breaks into a fit of sobbing. It breaks her heart, something she wasn’t even sure she had the capability of.

 

She wraps her arms around his back with only a second's hesitation, whispering “shhhh” even though she knows he can’t hear her. She brushes a hand through his hair waiting for him to calm down, come back down to earth with her. Claire had said this was going to get worse before it got better, but this was devastating. No wonder she bailed.

 

At one point he collapses into her arms, unable to cry anymore. She lays him back down and raises the water to his lips, hoping he isn’t delirious from dehydration. He drinks a little and takes more pills. When she shifts in bed he grips her, hard, trying to pull her down into the mattress. Her breathing stops and she has to concentrate to remind herself  _ its just Matt, he won’t hurt you. He can’t see or hear, he’s using your body for orientation. Nothing more. _

 

He seems to feel her flinch. “S-sorry, its just, feeling your heart rate it-it helps. Its grounding, especially when you’re close. Gives me a clear path through the dizziness.” He sounds so vulnerable she can’t help but feel an unbidden surge of affection. Fucking  _ affection. _ She very carefully lowers herself down to fold herself into his arm. Pressing her body flush against his right side she places her arm across his chest, laying her head against his clavicle and placing her leg over his good side. He nuzzles his chin into her hair, breathing her in. His left arm reaches for her wrist to feel her pulse point while his right arm rests on her ribcage to match his breathing to her own. Slowly she feels him relax under her, slipping into a restful sleep for the first time all night. She begrudgingly allows herself to do the same.

 

\----------

 

Coming out of sleep and not being able to to hear makes his whole head spin. He usually grasps at the environment for the typical noises to orient himself. When listening he cannot find a single sound. No street cars, no yelling, not even the hum of electricity that is the heartbeat of his city. He reaches out again and again to no avail, his world on fire has gone dark. He can’t get his bearings on anything from where he is.

 

All he can feel is pain, its radiating everywhere. It causes a dizziness he cannot shake off, as if he has nothing to ground him to the world. There’s a feeling of floating in his mind, like he’s rotating through the air with nothing to anchor him to the ground. Each time his head spins his stomach flips, threatening to expel its contents. He tries to locate a source of the pain, but he feels red hot jolts everywhere. Every breath he takes sends another jolt to his brain, causing him to see a blinding white light. Each movement sends a fire through his joints that takes his breath away.

 

He starts to panic, gulping in rapid short breaths, until he feels a warmth coming from his right side. Focusing all his energy on that sensation he feels hot breath on his neck. Can even feel a heart beating against a rib cage. He focuses, forcing his breathing to align with it, picturing the steady rise and fall in his mind. Taking in his first deep breath he tastes whiskey in the air. Can smell lavender soap. Shifting his fingers on her pulse he can feel the leather of her jacket.

 

Jessica. Jessica had found him. Of course the best PI he ever met would find him, wherever he was. Reading what he can from her body calms the spinning and nausea threatening to drown him. Shifting his focus from the pain to her essence distracts him from the dizzying feeling long enough to clear his head. He knows he has woken up before and had to be reminded of this, but cannot remember how many times. He is trying to gather the memories, trying to figure out a timeline, when he feels her shift closer to him. He revels in the feeling of her warmth, drinking in her heartbeat. So strong, sure, steady, just like her. She nuzzles her face into his neck. The where and how and what doesn’t seem to be as important anymore. Her presence comforts him, lets her warmth flow over his body dulling all the pain. He lets himself slip back into unconsciousness. 

  
\-------  
  


Danny wakes up and gives her a strange look about four hours after she had calmed Matt down. She rolls her eyes at him.

 

“Don’t get all excited iron clad, he woke up freaked out cause his hearing wasn’t working. This was the only way I could calm him down.”

 

Danny lets out a laugh “Oh sureeee….” then he stops “Wait he really couldn’t hear?”

 

“Not a word. We have a Helen Keller on our hands. Everytime I try to free myself he freaks out.”

 

He gulps “What do we do?”

 

“Do you know what happened to his apartment? His things?”

 

“Um well…” He started awkwardly, shifting his gaze to the ground “I kind of, bought it. Been using it as a rest stop when I’ve been out late patrolling.”

 

“Daddy’s money must be nice…” Jessica said, if she had to roll her eyes again today she was going to be as dizzy as Matt. She chooses not to question it, grief does weird things to people. “Can you go there and get his briale attachment and his computer? If he wakes up we need to be able to communicate.” She had been thinking about how to deal with the loss of hearing for a few hours, and this was the best solution she could come up with.

 

“That is a great idea! I saw him use it once, I’ll give him his next dose of meds then go now.”

 

He gets up swiftly with an agility Jessica envies. Stretching his back he slips into his shoes, pops some pills down Matt’s throat, and starts out.

 

“Danny.” Jessica looks up at him, with the movement Matt flinches, “Thanks, the dramamine was a really great idea. I think it helped.”

 

The smile that spreads across his face is so childish it makes her wince. He darts out of her apartment and she nuzzles back into Matt’s neck, pausing only a moment to think of just how strange this all is before slipping back into a deep sleep.

 

\-------

 

When Danny returns she is fighting a struggling Matt. He is definitely stronger than yesterday, she was finding it difficult to balance not hurting him while still using enough force to prevent him from hurting her. Danny comes up behind her just in time to catch a swing she had ducked straight in his eye.

 

“Fuck that is going to bruise” He says as he grabs Matt’s hand and shoves it into the mattress. Jessica had a strong grip on his left arm, but was hesitant to put her weight on his bad hip, which was really the only way to get a secure hold on him.

 

“Do you have it? He seems more coherent, maybe with some communication we can get this to stop.”

 

“Yeah, here you got him? I’ll set it up.”

 

She takes his right arm from Danny and put her weight on his shoulders. Danny walks to the nightstand and sets up the computer with the screen. They change places while she types up a message.

 

_ Matt? Its Jessica and Danny, you’re in my apartment. Calm the fuck down. _

 

She reaches for his hand and he flinches back, eyes open wide. Slowly, she takes his hand in hers again, rubbing circles on his knuckles. Maneuvering it onto the briale pad proves a little awkward based on his angle but she manages it.

 

His eyes narrow as he takes in what he is feeling before repositioning his hand and pulling his other from Danny’s grasp. She sees the smile creep across his face as reads the text.

 

“I can’t hear”

 

_ We know. _

 

“What happened?”

 

_ You tell us. I found you in a church being cared for by nuns. They had you doped up on narcotics, you begged me to take you out of there. I brought you back to my apartment. _

 

“Elektra must’ve dropped me there. She pulled me out through the passageway, then everything went black.”

 

_ She’s been using her credit cards and social. She definitely survived. The nuns wouldn’t tell me anything, I kind of kidnapped you. _

 

“Thank you.” He tries to meet her eyes but was way off, clearly still disoriented. “How long have I been here?”

 

_ I found you yesterday, brought you here. It’s been a rough night. Claire said you’re in withdrawal. _

 

“Claire?” His expression confused

 

_ She had to leave. _

 

He merely nods, face dropping. 

 

_ I’m not going to give you anymore narcotics unless you ask, but how are you feeling? _

 

“Disoriented, without my hearing I can’t place anything. Most of my other senses are ok but it feels like I am spinning. It’s making me nauseous. Please no more narcotics, promise me.”

 

_ I promise, but I meant the pain you idiot. _

 

“I’ll manage.” He says, a small smile playing at his lips. God, he was a masochist 

 

_ Seriously. _

 

“My ribs are broken, but they’re healing. My left hip I don’t really want to try moving, it feels strange.”

 

_ Dislocated. Its been reset but still looks nasty. Claire said all this should heal, but the withdrawal should take two weeks due to your… sensitivities. _

 

He grimaces when he finishes reading that one, his hands shifting to his hip. He palpates the area very gently, obviously causing himself pain, before nearly retching into a pillow. Reaching for the bucket she places it next to him. They both turn away while he is sick, looking at one another.

 

“I’ll give him more meds when he is done. But he looks better than yesterday” Danny says

 

“Claire said it’s going to get worse before it gets better. Don’t get your hopes up.”

 

And it does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the reviews and kudos! I live off it....


	5. Chapter 5

The next day she sleeps a little longer than four hours and is punished for the indulgence. The smell is what pulls her out of sleep, the air is sour. As she breathes in it stings her nostrils, mixing with the humidity already stale in the air. She rolls from her stomach to her side in an attempt to identify the source of the pungent smell, feeling something sticky on her back as she moves. When her hand slides up to push her hair behind her ear her mind clears enough for her to realize what the smell is. It is the smell of bile and the three of them are covered in it. Glancing across the bed she sees Matt practically swimming in it as he clenches his hands in the filthy sheets. She tosses a pillow at Danny to wake him up, she has learned that kid can sleep through anything.

 

“What- what’s going on? Wait what- ewwwww!” He says as he realizes what they’ve been sleeping in. Matt definitely aimed toward Danny, he has it much worse than she does. It is dripping from his shoulders, staining his previously white t-shirt.

 

“We’ve gotta get him in the shower” is her only reply, standing and wiping vomit out of her eyes. For lack of a better option she wipes the larger pieces off onto the already destroyed sheets, aggressively scraping at her skin until it is clean. Once her hands are clean enough she types on Matt’s computer while Danny forces him to take the next dose of meds.

 

_ We all need a shower, you’re coming Murdock. Danny is going to get you undressed. _

 

Matt barely reacts, a small nod of the head the only indication he has any idea what’s going on. Nodding to Danny she steps out of the bedroom to prep the shower. She strips down to her underwear and bra, runs the water until its hot, then opens the door to let Danny in. He’s holding Matt, clad only in boxers, upright his arms in a circle at the rib cage, but is fully clothed himself. When he notices her state of undress he tries to look away but Jessica interrupts him.

 

“Relax Danny I am not going to take your virtue, you can strip down too. We’ve slept together already. Besides, it’s not like a three way shower is going to be super sexy when we’re all covered in vomit.” She takes great pleasure in his face at that statement. When he recovers she moves forward to reposition Matt, taking on the weight of his injured side. He starts moaning from the pain, causing her to hesitate from taking on his full weight. In this split second of hesitation Matt weakly leans onto his bad leg causing him to full out scream. She moves him forward, trying to get him in a less painful position when he suddenly passes out. Shit. Oh well. One problem solved.

 

Standing under the trickling water the two of them attempt to clean Matt of the vomit while he is blissfully unconscious. They use an entire bottle of soap between them and she washes her hair at least three times. She feels the familiar swell of guilt rise in her, it was her job to wake up and give him the meds and she failed him. He was going to spend the day in more misery than necessary because she couldn’t manage to wake up on time. She fuses over his cuts, worried about the vomit causing an infection. That is the last thing he needs. Danny gives her a judgemental stare when she pulls a reserve bottle of whiskey off the shower rack to disinfect Matt’s lacerations again. She leaves him with Danny after she is mostly clean to prep the bed for them. Murdock is lucky the only thing she has in abundance in her apartment are sheets, and only because sleeping on them after a one night stand grosses her out.

 

When Danny comes back Matt is making strange noises but they are both vomit free. Danny had dressed him in a pair of basketball shorts that hang loosely around his hips. His torso looks ghastly, various shades of blue to purple to yellow bruising against the unnaturally pale back drop of his skin. Shaking off her shock at the sight of him she helps maneuver Matt onto the, once again, new sheets.

 

A loud ringing causes them both to startle, Danny shuffling around for his phone while she merely glances to confirm her battery is still dead.

 

“Colleen said she can come over and cook for him, do you have a rice cooker?”

 

“If she needs anything that isn’t used to drink whiskey just assume I don’t have it.”

 

Danny laughs and texts Colleen back “She will be here in an hour, I don’t know about you but I think we could use the back up. She said she could get the laundry done too.”

 

She sighs, not rejoicing in having additional company but resigned to them being in way over their heads “Yeah we’re kind of drowning here and it’s only been 2 days.”

 

When Colleen comes in she has about 8 bags of groceries and cooking utensils “You can keep it all when we’re done, I didn’t feel like carting our stuff over so I just bought most of it new.” She says as Jessica lets her in the door. How such a tiny woman carted all of that through Manhattan Jessica will never know. Leaning up on her tiptoes she kisses Danny before making her way to the kitchen and unloading her haul.

 

“What are you going to make?” Danny asks

 

“I was going to make a bone broth, chicken broth infused rice, and steamed vegetables. For the three of us I brought enough for steak stir fry. If he doesn’t keep this down I can go back out and try for something else while you guys keep an eye on him”

 

Jessica is impressed, it looks like she’s cooking enough to feed them all for weeks. Her mind quickly flashes to Malcolm and Trish. Would they have done this with her? She doubts it, especially after what her and Danny woke up to. The two of them barely tolerated Jessica’s hangovers, this would all be too much for them. Even Luke and Claire bailed, and they actually knew Matt. None of this is exactly glamorous or easy, yet neither of them seem like they’re about to bail. Loyalty like this isn’t something she is accustomed to.

 

“You need help?” She asks before she can stop herself.

 

Just then Matt decides to wake screaming again “Nah you go take that over, I’ve got the kitchen” Colleen responds with a small smile.

 

Practical. Something Jessica can respect, like even. No emotions or ulterior motives getting in the way, just getting shit done because someone has to. As she walks down the hallway she thinks about what makes people like them capable of doing the things they have done. Colleen killing her mentor. Danny killing his father’s best friend. Matt sacrificing everything to protect people who didn’t give a damn about him. Everything she has had to do over the past few years. When it comes down to it, people like them could do just about anything they had to do.

 

When she is back in the bedroom she sees him shaking violently again, clearly the meds hadn’t kicked in yet. A wave of guilt washes over her again, she should never have let them wear off. He couldn’t handle the pain in his hip without the frequent NSAID dosing. She was pretty sure it only took the edge off from the way he spoke about it earlier, but that edge was significant in keeping his head clear. Carefully, she sits on the bed near his good side, taking his hand in hers.

 

“Jess, is that you?” The nickname slipping from his mouth effortlessly, and she’s surprised to finds she likes it.

 

Taking both his hands she draws them up to her cheeks. Once they encircle her face she nods, hoping he understands. His calloused fingers roll over her facial features, as though trying to identify her. When he grasps what she is trying to communicate he steadies, taking deep breaths through the pain and dizziness. He slips back into a restless sleep and Jessica drops his hands back to his sides to take her place next to him, leaning against the headboard of the bed. As she watches him wriggle in his sleep her mind floats back to Danny and Colleen in her kitchen, helping her take care of a friend they barely know. At least Claire has known Matt for a while, and Luke has known her well. Neither of these two have any obligation to be here, yet they are staying. It is a completely selfless act that she can’t wrap her head around.

 

On that thought she drifts off and when she wakes she is entangled in Matt’s side once again. The sun is low in the sky now, she slept longer than intended. Glancing up to Matt he looks more relaxed than the few hours prior. His five o’clock shadow has spread into something closer to a homeless look, but his eyes are relaxed. Brushing his hair behind his ears she feels for a fever, but his skin is cool and clammy to the touch. After a quick check on his breathing and pulse she carefully disentangles herself then quietly goes back to the kitchen.

 

“He ok now? I gave him another dose of meds, you guys looked comfortable.” Danny asks, a sly smile on his face

 

“He’s asleep, if you want to call that ok.” She replies, feeling the exhaustion in her bones, not even finding the energy for a smartass retort.

 

“Why’d he wake up like that?” Colleen asks

 

“We missed a dose of NSAIDs, they hadn’t kicked back in yet so he was in a lot of pain. He seems to be doing better now.” Jessica replies, rubbing the sleep from her eyes

 

Colleen looks pointedly at Danny who withers under her stare. Jessica watches as he fumbles with a coffee cup in his hands, eyes darting around the room. He’s jumpy and on edge, clearly uncomfortable about something, while Colleen is staring at him with the intensity of a cat stalking a mouse.The rice cooker beeps causing him to jump into action, taking the pot out to stir, concentrating way too hard for such a simple task.

 

“What’s going on, he might be blind but I’m not, what are you two thinking?”

 

Colleen jumps on the chance to answer “Danny can sometimes use his chi for healing, he did it once for me, I’ve been trying to convince him to try on Matt.”

 

“It’s not that simple!” Danny interrupts angrily, dropping the spoon “It requires a lot of concentration, when I brought Colleen back from the dead I had someone guiding me through it, I don’t know if I could get that kind of energy back up on my own, or if it could even heal what’s wrong with him.”

 

“Well we can try can’t we? Danny says the pain is mostly in his hip. If you focus on just healing that injury maybe it can be at least bearable for him? The withdrawal symptoms might be tougher, but the hip seems like something you can fix.” She is looking between Danny and Jessica as she talks.

 

“Why didn’t you mention this earlier iron clad?” Jessica says with venom in her voice. Matt’s suffering could have been lessened days ago had he said so. Danny shifts from foot to foot, staring intently at the floor. Colleen has moved in closer, the predator coming in for the kill. Part of her wonders if this was the real reason Colleen offered up her services in Jessica’s kitchen, to extend an offer Danny wouldn’t. She’s starting to respect this chick.

 

“I didn’t want to bring false hope!” He says as Jessica storms over to him, grabs him by the arm, and drags him to the bedroom with her, Colleen following smugly behind them.

 

She pushes him toward the bed, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly. “Work your magic or… whatever you call it”

 

“My chi, and it doesn’t work like this!”

 

Rolling her eyes she goes to stomp toward him, but before she can Colleen comes between them, looking up at Danny with an innocence Jessica didn’t think she had in her. “Jessica can you use the pad to tell Matt what’s going on, if you can get him to meditate Danny’s chi will work better. I will try to get Danny in the… right state of mind.”

 

She leans back on her heels, happy to allow Colleen to deal with Danny “Ok, but no blowjobs in the apartment. Go in the hall if that’s what you’re into.”

 

Danny’s face flushes while Colleen leads him into her office area by the sleeve. Jessica leans into the bed again, taking Matt’s hand and putting it on the briale pad. She hopes this is one of the times the symptoms are manageable and he is coherent. His face tightens up with alertness while she is typing.

 

_ Danny has some weird chi thing he is going to try to heal your hip with. The pain should be more manageable after that. _

 

“I can manage.” He says through clenched teeth

 

_ Don’t lie to me. You can vomit on me, punch me, convince me to cuddle you. But don’t you lie to me. _

 

He nods when he finishes that one. She hopes it comes off as forceful as it sounds in her head “We cuddled?” He replies with a smirk. Damn him.

 

_ Don’t deflect asshole, now tell me. It’s your hip right? _

 

He sighs “Yes.”

 

_ Ok. What’s going on? Walk me through it, the pain, your senses, everything. Let us try and help. _

 

He sighs, hesitating before starting and speaking in a slow, muted voice “I can’t move the leg at all without pain radiating through my body. Its constant, but increases when the meds wear off. The ibuprofen is the only thing keeping the fog of pain from totally consuming me. The assault on my senses from the drugs leaving I can tolerate with the dramamine, my ribs I have broken enough times to deal, that’s all fine, but this is unbearable.”

 

Fuck. She breathes in sharp breath. Assuming was one thing, to hear it described was quite another. From someone who claims broken ribs are “fine” hearing pain described as unbearable scares her, a swell of pity rising again.

 

_ We don’t think we can do anything for the withdrawal symptoms other than the meds, you’re going to have to wait that out. But we will do what we can for the pain. Anywhere else? _

 

“No.” She scoffs, even though he can’t hear it he must assume she doesn’t believe him “The ribs are almost healed, lacerations are nothing, but my hip is agony. Everytime the fog of pain comes over the withdrawal symptoms amplify and I can’t keep my wits about me. I really don’t like the loss of control.”

 

Instead of responding she squeezes his hand, words wouldn’t do justice in this case. Hell, she knows the feeling of fighting to keep control of your body. A silent communication passes between them before she goes back to typing.

 

_ Colleen says if you can slip into meditation Danny should have an easier time working his chi, do you think you can try? _

 

“I can try” He says with effort, another bout of pain coming over him. She watches intently as he focuses on his breathing. At one point he reaches into the air, does he want her hand? She extends it toward him and he grasps it at the wrist, maneuvering his fingers to her pulse point. He settles into a rhythmic breathing pattern then, eyes open and unfocused. 

 

After what feels like an eternity Danny and Colleen return, Danny looking resigned and Colleen looking triumphant. 

 

“We meditated, he should be ready” Jessica nods as Danny approaches Matt’s left side. He raises his hands over Matt’s pelvis while Colleen directs him.

 

“Alright Danny, focus your chi, imagine it flowing through you into Matt. Picture it pulsating into his bones, his veins.” As she speaks Danny’s hand glow in a color similar to his iron fist. Jessica leans against the headboard and pulls out her flask, her hand still entangled with Matt’s.

 

Just when she thinks all this is bullshit Matt’s pelvis starts glowing, the glow moving down his leg then fading, over and over again. Focusing on his face it contorts then relaxes, before finally falling into a peaceful sleep.

 

Danny relaxes into the bed too, rolling onto his back and falling asleep in less than five seconds. Jessica looks to Colleen who nods, and they start slipping out of the room, neither wanting to disrupt the two men.

 

Once in the kitchen Colleen miraculously pulls out 2 full plates of strip steak stir fry and they sit on the couch to eat it in silence. The taste of real food is heavenly, it’s rare she gets a home cooked meal. Takeout is easier. They pass her flask back and forth.

 

“We haven’t eaten in days, this is like heaven”

 

“Yeah, well you guys are doing the hard work I can at least keep you fed. Plus I owe Matt.”

 

“Why?” She asks, confusion in her voice

 

“Talking about feelings isn’t really my thing.”

 

Jessica laughs. She is really starting to like Danny’s girlfriend. They go back to their plates, but there a heavy silence between the two of them. What was Trish always saying about making friends? Something about a give and take?

 

“I’ve felt guilty since that day. Maybe if I hadn’t dropped the elevator he could’ve gotten out. We all did shit we regret that day.” Fuck where had that come from. Colleen just said she did not want to talk about feelings and here she was bearing her soul.

 

“He told you guys to leave because you promised me you would bring Danny back. If he hadn’t used that as an excuse maybe you could’ve gotten him to leave. It’s probably my fault more than your’s. Guess the point is we get a second chance now.” She looks at Colleen who is shifting a single piece of rice around her plate with a fork. She focuses in on the tiny scraping noise it makes against the plate. “It doesn’t matter who’s fault it is or why it happened, it just matters what we choose to do with what we’ve been given here” she finally says, looking up at Jessica as she says the last few words. She tosses her flask over and Colleen drains it, she really likes Danny’s girlfriend. 

 

When they finish Colleen shows her what she has cooked. Its enough to feed all three of them for two full weeks. She even frooze the second week’s worth and did the laundry. All that in just a few hours. Impressive.

 

“This is… great. Thank you.” She had never been good at displaying gratitude.

 

Colleen shrugs “The least I can do, you’re taking Danny off my hands for 2 weeks. The dojo will be clean, no clothes on the ground, I won’t have to cook 24hrs a day to keep up with his insane appetite. It’s practically like a vacation.”

 

That Jessica can laugh at. “Or listen to his snoring.”

 

“Ugh. I have about a year of sleep deprivation to catch up on from that” She offers a smile which Jessica returns.

 

After she leaves Jessica drinks down some more whiskey while looking over the streets from her window. The heat wave is still going strong, not exactly the best timing considering she doesn’t have AC and has two people staying with her. On the streets pedestrians are fanning themselves with newspapers, people still bought those? She sits down at her desk to enjoy the temporary silence, sipping slowly directly from the bottle of Wild Turkey.

 

She jumps at the sound of moaning from her bedroom, interrupting the silence she had been reveling in. Pushing away from her desk she side steps into the hall, walking slowly to the bedroom. She stands in the door frame for a second to determine if it was Matt or Danny. Danny is still sound asleep, only the rise of his chest and the light snore proving him to be alive. Matt on the other hand….

 

“Oh devil boy” she mutters to herself as her eyes scan over him. He had attempted to get up but had gotten tangled in the blankets in his disorientation, causing him to look like he was tied up. Slowly she pulls at the sheet to free his legs, taking the opportunity to check his hip. The swelling has gone down significantly, but the bruising is still present. As he wriggles free she notices he can move it, which had caused him to pass out from pain this morning. Progress.

 

She had been hoping he would be more coherent but apparently that had been too much to ask. He reaches out, grasping at the air with no real direction, muttering nonsense as he does so. Still deaf it appears, the delirium seems to come and go like waves as he fights the withdrawal symptoms. When she frees him of the sheets she pushes him into the middle of the bed, afraid he will try to roll off the side, then slides into his arm. Creating a barrier on each side of him with her and Danny’s bodies while he continues to thrash weakly before finally wrapping his arms around her and falling still.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this one a bit, so it is not as detailed. More transitional than anything else, attempting to establish a relationship. Let me know how it works!

Danny stays with Jessica the entire 2 weeks of withdrawal. Normally she would be annoyed by the intrusion, but she can only be grateful she isn’t alone. 

 

Claire never even calls. Luke texts her occasionally, apologizing and sounding guilty. Not like it matters. Actions matter, words don’t count for shit.

 

Today she is sitting in a chair next to her bed, laptop propped up on her legs which are pushing off the window sill, leaning her chair back at a dangerous angle. Its early, maybe 6am. She watches as the sun rises over the skyline, heat rising with it. NYC in the middle of a heat swell, it couldn’t have picked a worse week.

 

She hears the crank of the shower. She let Danny have the first go of it, since she had some early morning work to send out. Concentration is hard to find today, she closes her eyes to will herself to focus. Just before she can return to typing she hears a creek of the mattress behind her. She slams the chair back down while closing her laptop with a thud.

 

“You up?” Matt says, groggily

 

“Yeah, finishing some work.”

 

“Mmmmm” He moans, rolling onto his good side. She swivels the chair to face him. He is dressed in a tight black t-shirt and baggy sweat pants 2 sizes too large. His hair is plastered to his face from sweat. He meets her eyes, how does he do that? It always surprises her. Feeling too studied she distracts him.

 

“How are you feeling?” He still looked like shit, but the last 24hrs he has gotten significantly stronger. He had been coherent the whole time and hadn’t vomited in days.

 

“Hearing is finally back to normal, or my normal anyway. The world isn’t spinning anymore, so that’s a plus.”

 

“You know what I meant you jackass.”

 

He grimaces “Pain is more manageable than it has been.” 

 

She nods, knowing he will pick up on it. It’s as close to a real answer that she can expect from him, the guy who gets crushed by a building and describes it as “manageable”.

 

They sit in silence for a while. Her going back to typing, he meditating in the sunlight. She can’t help but let her eyes wander from her work while he’s in his zone. Studying him is hard when he’s paying attention, so she takes advantage when she can. His lacerations were completely healed, his breathing tells her his ribs are as well, but his hip worries her. It is still very bruised. Watching him walk, or hobble might be a better description, makes her wince.

 

“I can feel you worrying about me.”

 

“Psh. Only thing I worry about is my whiskey stock.”

 

“Keep telling yourself that Jones.”

 

She rolls her eyes, hating that she was such an easy read. When did she become so transparent? Probably when she became a live in nurse, sleeping in her bed with him and Danny every night. Her life had gotten very weird in the last few weeks.

 

“You must be tired, want the bed for a bit?” He says as he sits up. She watches him as he struggles into a seated position, nearly slipping off the side. Her arm jerks out automatically to steady him, grabbing him around his chest. He raises his head level with hers, and she suddenly feels her world stop. His breath is hot on her face, his hands move up her arms, leaving a trail of sparks behind. Slowly, he moves his face closer, closer-

 

“Wow your hot water is awful!” Danny explaims as he opens the door to the bathroom, humidity pouring out behind him.

 

They break apart quickly, her hands moving down his sides to steady him at the waist, his falling to his sides. He cocks his head to the right, preferring to listen from his left ear.

 

“Leave any for the rest of us?” Matt says, his signature smirk coming to his face

 

“Dude there wasn’t even enough for me” Danny says tossing a towel playfully at the back of Matt’s head, who catches it easily. 

 

He chuckles while Jessica stands, turning to face out the window once again. She feels her face flush, skin broken out in goosebumps, pulse pounding in her ears. What the fuck was that? She could’ve sworn they were about to kiss. Where had that come from?

 

It wasn’t that he was unattractive, he might be blind but she was certainly not. Over the past few weeks she had gotten to see more of him than he may have wanted. His body was perfectly sculpted, it was almost unfair that a blind man looked that good shirtless. And that jawline? What woman in her right mind could miss how attractive that smirk of his was. But there was something else, a spark that wasn’t purely physical. He was charming sure, but their personalities clicked, a chemistry built on more than just physical attraction.

 

She can feel him studying her, which only serves to make her more uncomfortable. Putting her on the defensive.

 

“Stop staring at my ass Murdock” She snaps, her voice colder than appropriate for the situation.

 

Matt just laughs “And how would I do that Miss Jones”

 

She turns, giving him a pointed stare. Danny shifts awkwardly from foot to foot fumbling with his phone.

 

“So Colleen has been missing me, I am going to catch breakfast with her. Wanna come?”

 

Matt’s face drops as Jessica studies him. Danny’s chi had reduced Matt’s pain and sped the healing but he was far from 100%. He can barely walk the short distance to the bathroom himself and he doesn’t need Danny reminding him of his limitations.

 

“Neither of us want to third wheel it while you shove your tongue down your girlfriend’s throat”

Danny’s face turns the same color as a tomato and he mumbles under his breath something about decency before walking out the door.

 

She shifts her gaze back to Matt who looks like someone kicked his puppy. His shoulders are slumped, his eyes half closed. As if he were a balloon without any helium.

 

“Hey, want some booze?”

 

He rewards her with a small smile “Is whiskey your coping mechanism for all life’s hardships? Or just ones that involve other people and their emotions?”

 

“All life’s hardships are caused by people” She retorts

 

“Touche” He moves to stand, his bad leg nearly collapsing from beneath him.

 

She almost reaches out to help, but realizes it would not be welcome in this moment. His pride had taken enough hits recently. Instead she walks away, albeit at a slower than normal pace, just in case. As she hears him follow she continues down the hallway trying to look anywhere that is not at him. She is more acutely aware of how much of a dump her place actually is since she has had people staying with her. The holes in the windows from where Pryce took a shot at her mother, the hole in the wall from when she was protecting Trish from Simpson, the spackle left by Malcolm, the bent pipes from her times with Luke. All there like ghosts dragging memories out of her past, a place she’s content to leave them. Along with all the people who had let her down.

 

She takes her spot behind her desk while Matt flops on the couch with none of the grace she had come to define him by. She pours a generous glass of whiskey and hands it to him, keeping the bottle for herself. He takes a whiff before sipping from the glass, his face contorting into a disgusted look.

 

“After all this I owe you a bottle of real scotch.” He says

 

“You better drink that, I don’t waste good booze on just anyone” Shit, that sounded much more flirtatious than she intended.

 

“You call this good?” He says right before drinking down half the glass. Ok, so that’s the type of drinking they’re doing this morning. The repressing some serious shit kind.

 

“I didn’t take you for a morning drinker.”

 

“You’re not the only one who employs destructive coping mechanisms to get by. Just call me the human disaster.”

 

A smile plays on her lips before she even realizes it. How effortlessly it comes when she’s with him. He sighs, leaning back against the wall, putting his feet up on her coffee table, wincing at the small effort.

 

“So when are you going to kick me out of your apartment Jones”

 

The question stuns her. The thought of him leaving hadn’t even crossed her mind. He was out of his mind delirious less than 24 hours ago and now he’s talking about leaving? She feels her heart start to race, heat and a flush of anger coming across her face. Why does that question make her so angry?

 

“Ok, wrong question. Got it.” Fuck, there she was making it easy for him again. She takes three long pulls from the whiskey bottle before she feels herself steady again. This conversation needs redirecting.

 

“How do you do that?”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Read people like that- I mean what exactly are you doing?”

 

He sighs “Everyone asks this eventually. Its like my senses are in overdrive. I can hear everything in an eight block radius. I can smell things out on the street. I can taste your ground floor neighbor’s curry. I have to filter all the nonsense out to not get lost in it all. So I focus on menial things in a close range. Heartbeats, breathing, temperature, adrenaline, of the people around me. If I interpret it all correctly it gives me a picture of how the person looks and feels that I can create in my head. Lets me predict behavior, manipulate it if I need to. It’s all very scientific when you break it down.” He drinks down the rest of the whiskey. She moves her chair closer to pour him another glass, then takes another sip for herself.

 

“So it’s like you’re putting the pieces of a puzzle together in order to get an image?” She continues, trying to get him to keep talking.

 

He looks up at that “Exactly, not many people understand when I explain it.” He has a confused expression on, as if she were reading his mind.

 

“That must be a lot of work.”

 

“It is, and a lot of times its still not as good as seeing a person. Sure I can tell things about them that allow me to manipulate a situation but a lot of them time I can’t figure out their facial expressions enough to know how I am being perceived. Physically I can tell what is going on though with is helpful in predicting danger in a fight.”

 

She mulls that over while taking another sip “That must come also in handy with women Murdock.”

 

His face displays confusion momentarily, then understanding, then shock, and then amusement, all in a quick sequence. She laughs at how off guard she caught him.

 

“I don’t kiss and tell” His smirk spreads wide across his face. She sits back, watching the way his throat moves while he laughs, his eyes crease, and listening to the sound of his amusement. She swallows her whiskey down, hard. They sit in silence again for a bit, his mood darkening, she remarking in how expressive his face can be for a blind man.

 

“I don’t know how to tell everyone I am alive.” He finally says. A look of defeat plain on his face.

 

Shit. He wanted to talk about emotions, not exactly her specialty. Sarcastic comments she could do anyday, their effortless banter was why she liked him. But real feelings? “How about an ecard” It slips out before she has a chance to stop it.

 

A beat passes and she wonders if she said the wrong thing before he breaks out in a deep laugh. She realizes how much she likes it when he is laughing, happy. It’s rare to see him relax, even in sleep most nights he is on edge. As if waiting for the city to call the devil out of him

 

“I don’t know how I would send it or if it would be appreciated”

 

“You could send one of those pass it along email chains. ‘Send this to ten people in the next 24 hours and Matt Murdock will come back from the dead, ignore this message and he will haunt you for ten years’”

 

He laughs even harder at that one “People actually do that?”

 

“In high school, you never got one?”

 

“I grew up in an orphanage, I didn’t have an email account until I was in college”

 

“Ah, you missed a great era.”

 

“Clearly.”

 

His face darkens again “They never could accept my… night time activities. Always trying to get me to stop, that forced me to lie to them about half my life. I didn’t exactly earn their trust. They didn’t stick around when I refused to live my life on someone else’s terms.”

 

She scoffs “Trish and Malcolm had the opposite problem. Always trying to force me into being a hero I wasn’t capable of.”

 

“You sell yourself short, you saved me.” He says    
  


“Elektra and Maggie saved you, I kidnapped you.”

 

That grants her a smile. “Want some coffee?” He asks, clearly changing the subject.

 

“Why not.”

 

He staggers into the kitchen. It's not graceful, but he's more steady than he was before. The more he moves the more he improves it seems. She returns to her laptop, trying to give him the courtesy not to stare.

 

When he returns he is clearly struggling with the effort of his movements. She doesn’t help, can tell he has been bothered by his limitations all day, but it takes effort on her part as well. She has watched him suffer plenty these last two weeks, he has suffered enough for one lifetime as far as she is concerned. Tremors wreck his body and he struggles to keep moving. Just as he goes to hand her the coffee mug his hands shake, spilling some on her jeans before it finally slips from his grip to shatter at her feet.

 

“Fuck” he yells, throwing the other mug into the wall. He slams both hands on the corners of her desk and grasping it in such a tight grip his knuckles turn white. “Sorry. Human disaster. You ok?” His shoulders are still shaking, anger rolling off him.

 

Nodding, she ignores the apology and sits very still while he composes himself. Her eyes search him up and down for signs the rage has passed but he only seems to be getting more and more keyed up. His biceps twitch under his tight shirt, his veins popping under the skin. His chest heaves as he sucks in deep breaths, face flush with rage he keeps his head down and she wonders if this is how she looks when she is pushed over the edge. She remembers back to times when she felt out of control. Living with Dorothy. When Sterling died. The year spent with Killgrave. The year spent after Killgrave trying to drown the demons. The frustration of not having control over your life was something she was intimately familiar with. Frustration snowballs into rage which externalizes as recklessness. She thought back to the bouncing ball of her support group….

 

“I have an idea.” She stands, walking purposefully to the kitchen. Taking the pot she pours the rest of the coffee into two thermos containers, then walks past him toward the door “You coming devil boy?”

  
  


\---------

 

Still unsure if its a good idea or not she walks slowly with him by her side, gripping her elbow in the absence of his cane. He’s in his sweats, wearing Danny’s shoes and her sunglasses. He looks ridiculous and is clearly struggling to keep up with even this slow of a pace, his face contorted in a grimace of concentration. The whole walk she is hoping she isn’t pushing too hard. She has a deep desire for him not to shut her out, she can’t quite identify where it comes from. When did his friendship become such an important aspect of her life?

 

“How much further?” He chokes out, panting with the effort. Subtly she takes on a little more of his weight, hoping he doesn’t notice.

 

“Two blocks”

 

They round a corner and she sees their destination. This time of day Bryant Park is packed, people pushing their way through large crowds in desperate search of coffee and breakfast stands. He gets knocked around a bit by the crowd until she maneuvers him to a bench where she pushes him into a seated position then drops down next to him.

 

Waiting until his breathing steadies to explain this mission she scans the crowd, looking for their target. The park is full of people in business suits, cutting through on their way to fancy jobs in fancy midtown buildings. Coffee trucks have lines dozens of people deep, shifting on their feet in agitation. She recognizes a face sitting at a table stationed under a tree.

 

“Let’s test out those senses of yours Murdock, can you pick out the guy sitting under the tree just past the churro cart?

 

She watches as he cocks his head, deep in concentration “Yeah, he’s drumming his fingers on a cup of coffee, has a churro in his left hand?”

 

“You got it. He co-owns a chain of those churro carts. His business partner hired me to prove he is breaching their contract by having some of the cart drivers only account for the card transactions, pocketing the cash and giving it to him. The partner thinks he is hoarding the cash to start his own restaurant and leave their business bankrupt”

 

He nods “His phone is vibrating”

 

“Let me know if you can hear anything” They sit in silence while he takes in the conversation. She doesn’t actually need him to translate the conversation, a few pictures will get her the payment. But Matt is the type of person who needs to feel useful, and hopefully this will distract him from his earlier frustrations.

 

“It’s still hard to filter but I can make out that he is upset with whoever is on the other line. They lost ‘his’ money.” She sees him put the phone down and stand, stalking back to the churro cart.

 

“Get your camera, they’re discussing cash”

 

Just in time she snaps the camera to document the exchange. 

 

“Thanks”

 

“Guess I still have some uses” His shaky hands fumble with his thermos until she takes it from him to open it.

 

“Stop with the self deprecation” She starts, handing him back the open thermos “The more you move the more limber you get. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but you’re more steady than you were when you woke up. Today you walked eight blocks, that’s more than you have in the last two weeks combined. You barely needed me for balance.” He scoffs at that white lie but it doesn’t stop her “And considering you were delirious just 24 hours ago from your freaky senses I’d say listening to a conversation 100 yards away is pretty good”

 

He shifts in his spot, uncomfortable under her scrutiny “You’re observant, must make for a good PI.”

 

“This coming from the human lie detector.” That awards her a hesitant smile “Look Murdock I can’t do that thing where I make you feel better, but I’m not going to bail on you either. Just let me know if there is something I can do that will help.”

 

“You just did” He smirks at her “Thank you Jess… for everything.”

 

They both sip their coffee in silence for a minute. It surprises her how comfortable their silences are. Most silence makes her anxious and restless, but with him there’s a peace she finds in the quiet. It almost makes her sad to break it. “I have a backlog of cases from the last 2 weeks thanks to you. You can repay me by helping me clear them. Up for catching a few cheating husbands next?”

 

He smiles “Ready when you are Jones.”


	7. Chapter 7

He starts to wake up early to meditate before she drags him out on her cases for the day, it’s easy to do since an “early” appointment to her is 11am. The rising sun brings a warmth on his skin that is comforting, but there’s another source of warmth that provides an even stronger sense of comfort next to him. To center himself he focuses on her breathing, light and slow. Her heartbeat is strong and sure, he can feel the blood pulsating in her veins when she arches her back against his side. The skin on skin contact softens his tense muscles, leaving a fluttery feeling in his chest that he doesn’t exactly hate.

 

The past week since Danny left they have fallen into an effortless routine. He makes coffee while she sets the cases for the day, then they go out and tackle them together. At night they meet Colleen and Danny for dinner, it’s all very domestic for people like them. He knows she can handle the cases on her own. She continues to drag him out with her to test his senses and, more importantly, keep him moving. As much as he didn’t want to admit it she was right, the more he moved the better he got. He was slowly learning she was never wrong and even if she was it was definitely not his place to mention it.

 

Matt Murdock has learned a lot of things about Jessica Jones in the last few weeks. The first is that despite how much whiskey she drinks, and she hardly drinks anything but whiskey, he has never seen her drunk. Whatever healing abilities she has burn the alcohol quickly, which is probably one of the reasons she drinks so frequently.

 

The second is that despite her gruff exterior she actually does give a damn about other people. He has not missed how she declines any client with a sob story, skipping straight to the adulterous jerks. The pro bono cases Foggy told him he was a bleeding heart for taking were the cases that she denied right away, but that also caused her to drink down her flask once the client walked out her door.

 

And the third, most upsetting fact, is that as much as she likes to pretend she is over her past it creeps up on her at least daily.

 

This morning is like any other. While he is meditating he feels her start twitching in her sleep, and waits for it to escalate from there. Her skin burns hot next to him now while her muscles pull tight like a coil waiting to be released. A deep moan builds in her chest before it passes her lips as a small cry. He grimaces, wishing he could do something to help her the way she has helped him so much. The one and only time he interfered with a nightmare he grabbed her wrist and ended up with a full force right hook to the jaw. Lesson learned.

 

He always feels guilty though, he knows how nightmares are and no one deserves to suffer from them. Least of all someone like her. She has not exactly been open about her past, but she knows he already read her story. The off handed comments she does make builds a rage inside him that burns hot while he struggles to tamp it down. When she does share these small insights he can’t help but also feel a surge of pride that she feels as though he is worthy of sharing her life with. 

 

That’s another thing he has learned. How nice it is to share his life with someone else. Having someone to pick up the slack, someone to lean on, someone to swap stories with, it was something he never knew he needed but now can’t imagine living without. It's like the most important slice of life was missing from his routine and he didn’t even notice all these years. Maybe that’s why she panicked the first, and only, time he mentioned moving out. Just thinking about it causes an emptiness to surge inside again that is unbearable. Maybe she feels the same way. Just maybe.

 

She makes another small noise before flinching violently, breaking him out of his morning muse. He shifts very carefully so his good leg is flush with her back, hoping the return of skin on skin comfort will ebb her back into a safe sleep. Eventually though her own body movements wake her up, he quickly pretends to be in a meditative state. 

 

She goes on with their morning routine as if nothing has happened. He lets her.

 

\------

 

They are in Little Italy today, tracking down a wife who is obviously having multiple affairs. They just needed a few pictures but this woman has so many partners- in just the span of a few hours- they decide to take bets on how many. He is still wobbly on his feet so they use the rooftops, her practically carrying them and him relying information to her.

 

It happens on the roof of an italian restaurant while the woman is meeting with partner number four. He grabs for her wrist as he loses his balance. Just as he does she freezes, whole body tense, a sharp intake of breath. He slowly relaxes his hold on her wrist, taking in a fight response coiling in her muscles. When he lets her go she shoots back, plastering her back against the brick wall behind them. His head cocks to the side while he takes in what is happening to her. Listening close he recognizes the shaking of her muscles, the bounding heart rate, small gasps. A panic attack or maybe… a flashback? He turns to the street to give her privacy, trying desperately to stop listening to her. He starts to feel his own wave of panic come over him, that he caused what is happening to her now, that she will know what he can read off her, that she will freak out when she knows and abandon him for reading her like that. That he will be alone. Again.

 

Just as he feels himself spiraling down he hears her boots scuffing against the tar as she approaches him.

 

“Fucking amatriciana pasta.” Is the only explanation she gives. Her voice is dark as she says it, she leans her elbows onto the ledge as he hears a clank of her flash is pulled roughly from her jacket.

 

“What was that about?” He takes the risk and asks, too afraid to leave a silence between them. Afraid she’ll leave him. She takes in a shaky breath and turns her head away. He can smell the tears building in her eyes, tastes the salt in the air.

 

He waits, trying to focus his senses elsewhere while she pulls herself together. Now that she mentions it he can smell the pasta, but he is not sure why that would knock her so off balance. Mentally he dissects the layers of the pasta to give her privacy. Picking out the pancetta, onion, and parsley from the overpowering tomato sauce. He can even pick out the miniscule amount of red pepper if he really focuses. His senses have definitely sharpened back to his baseline. He listens to the streets beneath him, can hear the sounds of a band raising from the restaurant, the strands of lights buzzing over the streets, he can imagine the neighborhood is beautiful tonight. He is so engrossed in creating a mental image of the city he is caught off guard when she starts to speak again.

 

“You know they say the sense of smell is most closely related to memory?”

 

He chuckles “Lucky for me it’s not sight, I have a hard enough time remembering things.”

 

She relaxes at the joke before continuing “The…. flashbacks…. They come back strongest when a scent reminds me of  _ him _ . Amatriciana pasta was a favorite of his, when you grabbed me I was right back in that restaurant, with his hand clutching my wrist. His mind wrapped around mine like a snake.” He tries not to gape at her he is so surprised she is sharing this with him, amazed at the vulnerability she is trusting him with. She merely bobs her head to the side “I figured I owed you an explanation. I didn’t want you thinking it was your fault.”

 

Fuck. This is the first time they’ve ever even come close to talking about what he’s noticed while living with her. He feels like an ass, it’s his fault. How could she possibly not blame him right now? Of course it was his fault. If he hadn’t grabbed her she would be fine. It was always his fault. His mind is spinning faster now, how does he make her feel better? She had said she can’t do that thing where she makes him feel better and he is starting to understand what she meant. He desperately wants to make this better for her after she had done so much for him. Her voice is downplaying what her body is telling him, how does he help her without letting on that he can tell when she spirals? She definitely would not appreciate that.

 

“Will my talking help or will that make it worse? Tell me how to help.”

 

“Talking helps as far as a distraction but it’s passed now.” She says as takes a very large gulp of whiskey, as if even she doesn’t believe herself.

 

His mind keeps spinning. She is definitely downplaying. He thinks back to the screaming match he got into with Foggy when he learned what Matt had known about him all these years. The familiar paralyzing fear of abandonment swirls around his head again. She shifts her weight forward onto her elbows while releasing a deep breath and he is reminded again of their talk in the park. ‘I’m not going to bail’. Well time to test that….

 

“No… its not passed.” He pauses, breathing deeply, resigned to confessing “You know I can sense certain things. I told you about how I can read other people to predict behavior. My sense of smell is very heightened, unfortunately.” She laughs at this. Maybe he’s on the right track “I can smell your fear and adrenaline, actually I’ve noticed it frequently. Your heartbeat is still elevated, your muscles are pulsating so you’re still shaking. But there is also the smell of salt in the air. You’re not the only one that can’t shake a smell.”

 

There is a long pause before she stands up straight to reply, stuffing her hands deep in the pockets of her jacket. “It must be a million times worse for you.” He doesn’t miss that she chooses to skate right over what he said about her. She clearly wants to talk about him and not her. Not exactly his specialty, but for her he can try.

 

“Not going to lie sometimes it makes living in the city unpleasant.” She laughs at that, a real laugh that makes his heart skip a beat. It’s so rare for her to really laugh he feels a swell of affection in his chest. Quickly he shakes his head, shoving that idea away, it’s the last thing she needs from him. “I just feel guilty. Its like I have some private information about everyone around me at all times. Not only that I am not truly blind but I can tell when they’re lying, when they are scared, turned on, everything people tend to want to keep to themselves. I feel like I’m constantly invading on everyone I care about.”

 

Her head jerks up at him when he finishes “It’s not like you choose to do it. You didn’t get to choose to be this way, you’ve said yourself you can’t just turn it off. You can’t blame yourself for it.” Her voice is stern and steady now, a far cry from the shakey way she spoke earlier.

 

He stops then, unsure how to react. Of all the ways he thought this conversation would go acceptance from her was not even on his list of possibilities. Out of everyone in his life he figured she would take it the worst considering exactly what he just picked up on from her. “Most people get angry when they find out, you aren’t?”

 

“You tell me, human lie detector.”

 

He pauses for a moment, thrown of by being  _ invited _ to invade her personal space. That’s definitely never happened before. He focuses himself entirely on her body. Her heartbeat has remained steady the whole time, a little elevated from the aftershocks. Her skin isn’t warmer than usual, she is tense but that should be expected. He still smells adrenaline rolling off her but not as much as before “You don’t seem to be….”

 

“Of course not, it’s not like I don’t have my own freaky stuff. People actually get pissed? Why?”

 

“Most people don’t like their privacy being invaded.”

 

“Shit Murdock it’s not like you’re choosing to be that way. That’s not fair of them, you’re already at a disadvantage over the rest of us. It all makes up for the fact you can’t pick up facial expressions as easily as others.”

 

“Honestly I thought you’d be pissed considering…. What I just read from you.”

 

She bites her bottom lip thoughtfully “How is it any different than if you could see me? Most of those things an observant person would notice if they bothered to pay attention. People usually just don’t bother. Sure it’s a little easier for you but it levels the playing field in my mind.”

 

“I never really thought about it like that before. Foggy and Karen were so freaked out when I told them. I try to tune the people I care about out, I was dissecting the pasta ingredients while you were… over there” He nearly said ‘pulling it together’ and was grateful for his last second tact.

 

She scoffs at that “They really don’t have any right to be. I wouldn’t be mad if…. You know. You read me.” Her head bows down, hair falling in front of her face. His fingers burn and twitch with a sudden desire to touch it. Is it rough around the edges like her personality? Is it thick and soft? He shuts the feeling down quickly. Adrenaline is still rolling off her. Instead he slowly moves his hand to hers, giving her time to pull away before brushing his fingertips against hers. He notices she relaxes slightly at the touch. Musing over how much better this is going than he thought his mind drifts unbidden to Foggy and Karen.

 

“I just want them to forgive me….” The words slip from his mouth before he can stop them. He can’t help but feel the swell of anxiety in his chest again, he never should have told her that. What was he thinking?

 

“Forgive you for what?” She says, not even having to ask who.

 

“They were both freaked out that I lied to them for so long about what I could do. They felt betrayed. It didn’t help that I continued to lie to them once I knew they didn’t approve of my night time activities.”

 

“It’s not exactly the easiest thing to tell someone. They should be more understanding.”

 

“But I knew for years every time they lied or were nervous, or-”

 

“And again I ask, did you want to? Did you consciously decide to betray them? Or was this something that your body did naturally?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“I think you do.”

 

Silence falls while he ponders that. The people he attached himself to so strongly always accepted what ‘normal people’ could not. Elektra and Stick both wanted to use him for their own agendas, but he allowed himself to be used if it meant he was given acceptance in return. Here she was, asking nothing of him and still accepting of who he was. He could not wrap his mind around everything she had done for him so selflessly “Thanks Jess, that means a lot.”

 

At that she finally takes his hand in hers, accepting the invitation he extended several minutes before. While they sit in silence taking in the sounds of the city she starts squeezing his hand harder and harder. He can feel her ramping back up again, and realizes how much better it feels to know she isn’t offended by him listening. Now he might actually be able to give her back some of what she had given him the past few weeks. But how to do it? She said talking helped but it doesn’t seem like she wants to talk about herself. Clearly when he talked about himself it distracted her from the spiraling tunnel she had fallen into, maybe it could work for her again. Not exactly his comfort zone. The gears in his brain turn while he attempts to find a middle ground.

 

“There are quite a few things I cannot get from my special senses.”

 

“Like what?” She jumps on the distraction. Maybe he could do something right. There were a lot of maybes floating around them right now.

 

“Like you said facial expressions are tough with people I don’t know, I’m getting better at reading yours though. Colors I can’t figure out at all obviously. I know you’re about as tall as me, you’re skinnier than you should be, and you have shoulder length hair. But I have no idea what color it is, what color your eyes are, or your skin.”

 

She scoffs “My hair is jet black, eyes are hazel, and my skin is fluorescent white. I basically look like a vampire.”

 

He laughs out loud at that “Oh c’mon it can’t be that bad.”

 

“Its bad.” She replies but her voice is light and airy, no longer thick and dark. Progress. She turns to face him and he notices how close they’ve become. He leans closer and she doesn’t back away, the air between them heavy with possibility. “Thanks Murdock. For, well you know, this.” she elbows him gently before leaning away from him “I have one more appointment tonight, it’s close by. You up for it?”

 

“Of course.” He replies, ready to jump on anything to distract him from the feelings he has rising up in his chest. There’s no way she would reciprocate them, he needed to get himself under control. Unwanted kissing was no way to repay her for everything she had done for him. 

  
  


“I won by the way”

 

“What?”

 

“The bet. She had four partners. You’re buying the whiskey tonight.”

 

He busts out laughing, completely having forgotten why they were on the roof in the first place. “Whatever you say Jones.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write! I had trouble finding a balance between their personalities and they both kept wanting to jump ship on me and this conversation. The original chapter itself is now broken into 3 chapters, I hope this first part worked


	8. Chapter 8

\----------

 

Walking through Little Italy he creates an intricate picture in his head of the neighborhood. The smell of cured meats in the markets, the clanging of pasta machines churning out flour, the taste of veal in the air. He has his hand on her elbow so he lets his guard down completely, trusting her to direct him. A deep sense of calm comes over him, he feels so much lighter after she told him she didn’t blame him for his observations. A weight he never realized he was carrying is lessened. He can feel a goofy smile spread across his face but he doesn’t even bother to stop it.

 

As they walk she explains the new client is a father with a missing daughter. It seems like the exact type of sob story she does not take on, he grows more and more confused as she explains the man expects foul play. Apparently the girl is an actress and she ran off with her much older director. 

 

“So what made you take on a case like this?”

 

She sighs, tensing her arm around his. “I know the director that might’ve taken her. Real scumbag I have roughed up for Trish a few times.” She ends the explanation there making it clear she is not interested in continuing. 

 

Before he can ponder that response she turns on her heel and stops in front of him. His feet trip over one another while he attempts to not barrel into her. When he regains his balance she is standing a few inches from his face. She reaches out to lift the hood up on the borrowed hoodie he is wearing. She readjusts it around his face to hide his eyes while a wave of self consciousness hits him. They really needed to get over to his apartment for his sunglasses and cane, but he was too afraid of drawing attention to himself. 

 

“Murdock.” Her voice is stern, a command to ‘look’ at her.

 

“Yeah” He says, hating how small his voice sounds. She could read him almost as easily as he could read her and he hated it. He is hit with another wave of appreciation that she invited him to listen in on her, not sure he would be that comfortable if the roles were reversed. 

 

“You look fine. No one will be able to tell. It’s dark and I’ll keep him focused on me. Just keep your head down and follow my lead.”

 

He nods slightly then feels her take his hand instead of him taking her elbow. The tension that had built up in his shoulders ebbed with the contact. Her hand is smaller than his, cold in contrast to his warmth. He squeezes gently trying to warm her. This position is definitely more natural and he can’t help but feel pleased with how their hands fit together.

 

The stairway to the father’s apartment is steep, narrow, and made of a slippery metal, throwing off his still recovering sonar entirely. She has a difficult time navigating him through it and he finds himself leaning on her heavily. Stairs are hard enough for him but he definitely did not have the flexibility to raise his leg this high. They had four flights of this. He felt his leg slip for the 500th time and her catch him right before he slid back to the bottom.

 

“Alright you are going to have to swallow some pride here and jump on my back. It is way too narrow for me to guide you like this if I’m holding half your weight.”

 

“Fine.” He says in between pants. Not like he has much choice. He tries not to feel emasculated by her offer, after all she did have some superhero strength, but can’t seem to keep the swell of embarassment from showing on his cheeks.

 

“Oh c’mon you’re blushing worse than Danny right now.” She says before lifting him from the step he crumpled on “I’ll put you down as soon as we get to the fourth floor.”

 

He grabs tightly around her neck, not entirely trusting what he cannot orient himself to. He feels her dip into a kneel beneath him before pushing off the step with all her strength. As the wind flows through his hair he realizes she was flying, not climbing. Before he can register that he too is flying they land in a crash on the fourth floor.

 

“Sorry, landings are never graceful.” She says before hoisting him to his feet by his elbow. He stops there, trying to regain his orientation to the world. It feels as though he is rotating on an axis, he can’t even tell which way is up. His arm shoots out for her and she takes it, allowing him to use her body to align himself. Nausea washes over him and it takes all his concentration to pull himself out of the vertigo while he sways in place. 

 

“Are you Jessica Jones?” A confused voice asks from behind them, shocking him out of his stupor slightly. He listens carefully to the echo of the words bouncing off the walls, using her body as an anchor to interpret the surroundings his sonar could take in. With a deep breath he lets go of her arm, standing straight. He nods to her, she returns the acknowledgement. 

 

“Yeah, who’s asking” Her voice is gruff, defensive. Her body is tense, reminding him of how Elecktra would tense before an attack.

 

“Joseph, we have a meeting.” The voice comes from a man with a thick Brooklyn accent, even more gruff than Jessica herself.

 

He feels her soften, no longer in a fight pose. “Yes. This is my partner. He will be helping me with your case, I need you to fill us both in from the beginning.”

 

The door to an apartment opens and Jessica steers him toward it. He focuses on keeping his face down, but from what he can tell the man is only glaring in Jessica’s direction. He is pushed into a couch while she perches on the arm rest above him. Confused for a second he suddenly realizes she is making sure the man looks above him to make eye contact with her instead of directly in his unseeing eyes. Smart.

 

The father starts right in talking about how his daughter Abigail is an aspiring actress at 14 years old. Her mother set up the girl’s auditions for the past year but recently moved out of state. Now he was trying to manage appointments but found it difficult to be present at every one of them. When Matt’s focus shifts to Jessica he can tell the backstory is making her antsy.

 

“Cut to the chase.”

 

“She met this man called Max twice weekly until he cast her in a new movie. I was honestly just happy at the time for her to be busy. It never occured to me that she would run off with him.”

 

“Is Abby the type of girl to run off?” There’s no accusation in her voice he notices, maybe a hint of sympathy. He cocks his head to listen

 

The man shakes his head vehemently “No, that’s why I think there is something wrong here. She has a party at The Plaza tomorrow night, a bunch of girls from Max’s movies were supposed to meet with a mentor, some older actress that Max previously cast. I think this older actress convinced Abby to leave home to begin with. Abby talked a lot about her.”

 

“Do you know the older actress’ name?”

 

“No, that’s really all I know. I was planning on trying to meet her tomorrow-”

 

“Don’t. We will take it from here. I will update you tomorrow. What time is she supposed to be at The Plaza?”

 

They work out the details while Matt fidgets on the couch. There has to be something more to why she is taking this case. She is way more stressed than he usually observes to her be when taking a case. The way she shut him down earlier for asking, the fact she was on edge enough to trigger a flashback on the roof. There was definitely something more to it.

 

She pulls him from the couch then roughly drags him out of the man’s apartment without so much as a goodbye. They take the stairs three at a time. When they are finally back outside she’s shifty, her body making jerky nervous movements. She’s keyed up, more so than usual. Everything he is reading from her is indecision, not a usual state of being for her.

 

“Look, I don’t wanna leave you but. I just. I need a bit. Um. Can we-”

 

“Jess” She raises her head “We can do whatever you want. If you need time I can walk back on my own.”

 

“Fuck.” She turns her back to him, shifts her weight, and spins back around “No. I am not abandoning an injured blind man to walk 30 blocks uptown. C’mon.” Her voice is determined, even though he is getting very mixed signals from her body.

 

\--------

 

She drinks down two bottles of Wild Turkey on their way back to Hell’s Kitchen, while he sips on a third until she drains that as well. He never knew there were this many 24hr bodegas with liquor licenses in Manhattan. When they get into to her apartment she riffles through her desk slamming the drawers in a frenzy.

 

“Whiskey is on the bookshelf.” He cocks his head in the direction of the bottle he smells and she storms forward. She drinks half of it down before he can even grab a seat on the couch. She throws herself into her chair and opens her laptop, pounding roughly on the keyboard. He is surprised nothing has broken yet.

 

He listens to her racing heart as she does her research. Feeling a bit awkward he moves to get himself a glass of whiskey, he can smell more coming from the kitchen. He combs through the cabinets in search of a glass, a mug, something to drink out of before resigning himself to drink straight from the bottle. There’s not so much as a jar of peanut butter in her cabinets and he wonders briefly how she survives without the constant reminder from another human being that ‘whiskey is not food’. As he sips he can feel the warmth of the liquor radiate throughout his body, savoring the feeling. He briefly wonders if the whiskey even affects her like that since her metabolism is so high. As the warmth spreads he realizes he is slightly drunk.

 

When she slams the laptop closed he returns to the living room “We’re going to The Plaza’s bar at 7pm tomorrow. We’ll wait them out there. I can get the girl if you can identify where they are doing this meet and greet.”

 

He nods “Any idea who this actress is?”

 

“None. Although it looks like Max might be connected to a sex trafficking ring, so apparently perverts only become worse in their old age. I found some mom groups on Facebook that were warning about him convincing their girls to run away. Not one mention of this older actress mentoring them though.”

 

“Could you ask Trish about it?”

 

Her head whips in his direction and he gets the distinct feeling she is glaring a hole through his skull. He can tell he is on thin ice. Having never pushed her buttons before he feels his heart rattling in his chest, but this feels important. He might as well take the leap while the whiskey is making him brave.

 

“Not an option.” Her voice has turned cold and icy, a tone he has never heard her use on him.

 

“Why?” He decides to continue to push. Maybe it’s the whiskey talking now not just making him brave.

 

“Why do you care?”

 

“Because you’re upset and I care about you.” He tries to soften his tone to beat back her deflection. 

 

“Well don’t bother.”

 

She stands abruptly, slamming her desk forward. He is amazed how much she reminds him of Electra when she is posed for a fight. Part of him is expecting necromancy ninjas to burst through the windows.

 

“Jess, if you want to talk-”

 

“I don’t.”

 

“Well I am here if you change your mind.”

 

“Why do you care so much? It’s not like I have done anything for you. We don’t even really know each other.” She spits the words at him, covered in venom.

 

“Because you have helped me so much when no one else would. I can never repay what you did for me, but I’d like to help if I can. You’re a good person. You deserve to be happy.” 

 

She scoffs “Save your breath. There is no need for false compliments. I am a piece of shit.” With that she slams the mostly empty bottle into the trash, letting it shatter into hundreds of pieces on the floor. “FUCK.”

 

“Stop moving, you’re not wear shoes.” He says as he bends down to pick up the pieces

 

“At least I can see them.” She says while she sways, bending to all fours. Well, guess he has seen her drunk now. How did they even end up here? Didn’t this start with him asking a question about her case? His head is spinning fast yet he still can’t keep up with the conversation.

 

“Please Jess, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

“What does it matter? Why do you care? Better me than you.”

 

Well she really likes that question tonight “Because I care about you Jessica, you are not expendable.”

 

She stops suddenly, clutching a piece of glass in her hand. Disbelief is all he can read from her right now, as if what he just said never even occurred to her. He can taste the copper in the air, smell the blood dripping onto the floor. There’s another taste, salt? Is she crying? Really drunk then. 

 

Slowly he reaches forward for her hand. She jerks back initially before letting him pry her hand open and remove the glass. It was a surprisingly large piece and now her whole palm is sliced through to the bone. He prods around gently, surprised she managed to sever tendons, but doesn’t feel any other shards in her hand. He reaches into the drawer that has a first aid kit and starts wrapping the injured hand.

 

“You don’t have to do this, I’ll heal. And I know it’s gross.” Her voice is small now, the venom gone.

 

“Lucky for you I am not squeamish.” He says and flashes her a smirk while he wraps her hand.

 

“You should get out. I’ll just hurt you. I destroy everyone I touch.”

 

“I survived a building falling on me, I can take it. I’m not bailing.” She twitches as he finishes wrapping. If it were a normal person he would’ve stitched it but she seems confident in her healing abilities and he isn't sure she will stay still long enough in this state. He regrets not disinfecting it, but the smell of whiskey is all over her and he hopes that the alcohol will suffice.

 

“Fucking martyr.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You just have to fix everyone don’t you?”

 

“I don’t want to fix you, I want to be here for you. However you might need me. Like you have been for me.”

 

“You can’t help. Don’t you get it? Nothing can fix me. I am the problem. I’m toxic.”

 

“I don’t believe that. You helped me.”

 

She sways in front of him and takes another gulp from a new bottle of whiskey that just appeared. How many was that? He completely lost count at four bottles. Trying desperately not to take her words personally he goes back to cleaning the glass. Looking down he makes sure to avoid her gaze to not spook her.

 

“You are a good person Jess. A great friend. As much as you try to pretend you don’t give a crap I know you do. I’ve seen it every day. Let me be the type of friend to you that you have been to me.”

 

“A friend? That’s what you want?” The words come out sharp, angry. What does she mean? Does she not want to be friends? Is she sick of him already? Does she want… more? No way, that’s wishful thinking. There is no way she would want that from him. Definitely the whiskey talking.

 

“Isn’t that what you want?”

 

“Yes- No. I don’t know.” He hears her shuffle, glass clattering near her feet. Her weight shifts between her feet. Spinning in a circle to face him again she curses under her breath “Fuck.” Suddenly she lunges forward, crashing her lips into his. Sparks fly as her tongue darts into his mouth, teasing behind his upper lip. Electricity shoots through him, releasing a moan. His brain freezes and his mouth responds without consulting the rational side of him. While his tongue explores her mouth his brain catches up. She was drunk. She didn’t mean any of this. He was taking advantage. There was no way she would want him like this in her right mind.

 

“Jess-” he says as he pulls back. Confusion is what he can read on her face. He is not sure but he thinks embarrassment too. “You’ve had a lot to drink how about-”

 

Suddenly she pushes away from him, nearly causing him to lose his balance

 

“I should have known, god forbid Saint Matthew let loose and have some fun. Always have to be in control right? You can’t just let something be.” She is pacing around the living room, narrowly avoiding the broken glass.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You couldn’t just let the building fall you HAD to be underneath it. You talk about me not being  _ expendable _ . What about your death wish you never seem to want to talk about. What have I done to deserve to survive over you? Look what you’ve done for this city and everyone in it. And you think all of that is  _ expendable _ . Out of the two of us a lot less bad shit would happen if I was under that building instead of you. A lot less people would have been devastated. We  _ mourned _ you, you asshole. Do you know what that’s like?”

 

Her words hit him like a boulder. Until he had his own words thrown back at him he didn’t see it. He saw himself as expendable, just as she saw herself. He feels a rage burn. Did she really think she mattered less than him? What had he done for anyone? He brought Karen and Foggy constant misery. He is not even sure he saved any lives in the end of his DareDevil escapades. Why can’t she see herself the way he sees her?

 

“Jess I’m going to say it again. You are not expendable. You do not have to feel guilty for choices I made. It was a bad choice, I admit it. If you were the one down there I can tell you right now  _ I _ would have been devastated. I’m sorry that I put you through that. I didn’t want to put anyone I love through that.” Fuck. What did he just say?

 

He feels her body temperature drop, she is frozen in place. He is reminded of a scared animal, one that he was coaxing to him but then just rushed headlong at. Her breathing has stopped, her heart rate is dangerously high. His own breathing stops, a stabbing pain hits him in the chest. Damn whiskey.

 

“I can’t.”

 

With that she stumbles forward and slams the door. He listens as she storms up to the roof. Can hear her open another bottle of whiskey, does she hide them strategically or something? She stands near the edge, looking over the streets. He almost had her where they could talk, seriously for once. About what’s going on with her. About what’s going on with  _ them _ . Maybe what he has felt recently wasn’t just in his head, maybe it was in her’s too. He shakes himself out of his thoughts, he can’t dwell on that last one. He can’t get his hopes up. Right now he’ll be lucky if she doesn’t kick him out when she sobers up enough to digest what he said.

 

He goes back to the broken glass, which works as an excellent distraction. When he finishes he cleans the entire apartment, which he is not sure she has ever done. When he is out of tasks to distract himself from his thoughts he flops down on her bed, reclaiming a bottle of whiskey he found under it. He listens to her drink above him, getting lost in the sound of her, while brainstorming ways to help her as much as she helped him.

  
  


\------

 

He is surprised at 3am when he wakes to her curling into his right side. Her spot. She nuzzles her face into his clavicle and he can’t help but breathe in the scent of the city from her hair. He is drowsy, a cloud of sleep in conjuncture with a developing hangover fogging his brain.

 

“You ok?”

 

She doesn’t answer but instead takes his left hand resting on his chest. He listens to her, she is relaxed and calm now. The keyed up agitation of before completely gone. He wonders exactly how much whiskey it took to get her there. From the smell he’d say several bottles after she went up to the roof.

 

“I told you I’m not going to bail. I’m trying.”

 

“I know. I’m not going to bail either.” He kisses her forehead before he can think better of it, she leans into the contact. They both drift into sleep.

 

\---------

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone has ever been to Midtown Comics in Manhattan their stairwell is what I used as inspiration for the start of this chapter. It is a real bitch of a climb, especially after a few drinks.


	9. Chapter 9

\-------

 

The next morning he surprises her by being awake first. The sun is beating down on her back, it must be late. She is facing Matt who is propped upright next to her, eyes open and unfocused in same mode Danny uses for meditation. She blinks to clear the image and suddenly memories from last night hit her hard. The fight. The broken glass. Drinking alone on the roof. What he said that sent her running. A pounding ache comes from the back of her skull. Her mouth is dry and she is drenched in sweat. It all sparks a flurry of panic in her, the memories fanning the flame. What if last night was too much for him? What if it caused him to move out? What would happen if she were alone? Again.

 

Rolling drowsily to her right side she fumbles for her phone, looking for the time. A distraction. Anything.

 

“Its 1:30.”

 

The sudden noise of his voice causes her to jump before she processes what he says “Fuck, how’d I sleep so late.”

 

He shrugs “You needed it, you haven’t slept more than a few hours in weeks at this point. Its my fault so I figured I’d let you catch up some. I left you aspirin and water on the nightstand, figured you could use it. If you’re looking for your phone I think it died, I can’t hear the battery.”

 

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” She slams her head back into her pillow “What are you doing anyway?”

 

“Meditating. Helps with healing.” She just nods. After spending two weeks living with Danny Rand that is definitely not the strangest thing she has heard. Was he going to bring up last night? He was pretty drunk too, maybe he didn’t remember? Well she sure as hell wasn’t bringing it up.

 

“Good luck with that devil boy.”

 

“I could teach you.”

 

“Part of my own freaky abilities is that I heal very quickly, you don’t have to worry about me.”

 

“It’s good for other things too. And I worry about all my friends.”

 

“Oh we’re friends now?” Maybe he had forgotten about last night?

 

“Unless I’m misreading this” He waves at the bed “I think we can call each other friends. Seriously though, meditation is used for a lot of things.”

 

She glares at him, her brain too foggy to determine where he is trying to take this conversation. “Oh yeah, like what?”

 

“Mindfulness. Reduces anxiety, helps with sleep, calms negative thoughts.”

 

Now she understands. She sighs, she knew he was going to bring it up eventually. After what he witnessed last night she should have known today would be the day he would try to fix her. Just like Trish and Malcolm. A stab of guilt goes through her chest, she really doesn’t want whatever this is to end the way it did with them. But he needs to understand her. “I don’t need you to fix me, I can’t be fixed. You think you’re the human disaster? I got you beat.”

 

Immediately he shakes his head “I don’t believe that and I don’t want to fix you. But I have slept in your bed for more than three weeks now, I know about the nightmares. I’ve been there when you wake up from them, can sense your body reacting to them. You flinch when I grab your wrists a certain way or if Danny accidently sneaks up on you. And if you remember from our first meeting I know about what happened to you. You’ve helped me so much, saved my life even. Let me help you.”

 

She looks at him thoughtfully, uncomfortable under his praise. If only he knew the truth. Reading words on paper was different than witnessing it, experiencing it. If he could understand what she had done he would never try to fix her, wouldn’t even want to be near her. Sitting in front of her was one of the best people she had ever met. He had no clue who he was saying all these nice things to.

 

But she was also talking to the man that let a building fall on him so he didn’t have to watch his crazy, mind controlled, ninja ex-girlfriend die again. The man who was physically unable to give up on someone he cared about. Maybe she didn’t quite realize who she was talking to either.

 

“If you remember I told you this last night.”

 

“And if you remember I told you I am stubborn and will still be here. You can’t push me away Jess.”

 

“I remember something else you told me too.” He voice is barely above a whisper. She desperately wants to leave the bed but something is keeping her still. She has to know the alcohol didn’t create their conversation last night.

 

“About all that, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that or said things you…. Weren’t ready to hear. I just want to be here for you. Tell me how.” 

 

Letting out a deep breath she relaxes. Not nearly as bad as she thought. “Look I’ve been here before. Both Trish and Malcolm thought they could fix me. I am not fixable. Malcolm learned that soon enough. Trish would not let up until I had to cut her out just to keep my head above water.” She realizes that she is rambling but somehow can’t stop. What was wrong with her this morning? He didn’t need her to dump her shit on him, he had enough of his own to deal with. And what does ‘not ready to hear’ mean? Did he actually mean it? Or was it the whiskey talking? Her mind could not keep up with the undertones of this conversation when she was this hungover.

 

“Jess, I was a blind orphan with heightened senses. You think I don’t know what nightmares and hyper awareness is like? It can be hell. Stick taught me meditation to help. I thought it was bullshit at first but after a while, admittedly a long while, it really started to help”

 

“I prefer whiskey.” He smiles and she can’t help the flutter she feels in her chest, a warmth riding up her neck. Was she blushing? His hand moves very slowly to brush against her shoulder. She shudders, but not from fear. There’s a different type of emotion coursing through her veins right now.

 

“Look I have audiobooks on my laptop that walk you through it, can I at least play one so you can listen? Worst case scenario they put you back to sleep.” He slowly brings his hand down her arm to hold her hand. She feels all her blood in her body rush along to follow his touch down to her finger tips.

 

Putting that little reaction out of her mind she sighs, resigned to the fact he is right. It can’t hurt to try. Plus anything to avoid anymore talking about feelings. She squeezes his hand. “Alright fine but if I hate it you owe me dinner. We’ve got that hotel thing tonight for the actress remember?”

 

The smile he sends her is triumphant “You won’t be disappointed. I’ll keep track of the time.”

 

Admittedly she is not disappointed. It’s actually relaxing, even if she couldn’t find “the quiet” Matt kept rambling about.

 

\-------

 

He feels self conscious going out in public. While he appreciates finally having something to do, he has none of the props that make him Matt Murdock. Occasionally he has passed for sighted, but that’s hard to do without sunglasses. This is the first time she is bringing him out in public at night, so those aren’t even an option. At least she managed to scrounge up a button up and dark jeans that fit him from her closet, or she claimed they were dark. He doesn’t let his mind linger on why she has men’s clothes, not even sure why that upsets him.

 

They’re sitting in the bar at The Plaza. He is attempting to stare intently into his drink but can’t help feeling as though his gaze is off. It’s a quiet night, so the few eyes in the bar are all trained on them. Two people like them just sitting in this bar they stand out like a sore thumb anyway, drawing even more uncomfortable attention.

 

“Stop being so insecure, you look fine. All you have to do is drink and listen, I’ll take care of the hard stuff.”

 

She’s too observant for his own good, can always pick up on his moods. He chides himself internally for being such an easy read, absolutely hates when people read him right. Thumbing the glass he concentrates on what’s around him instead of his own insecurities.

 

“The woman you’re looking for is coming in now I think. Smells like Ralph Lauren, wearing obnoxiously loud heels. It sounds like she is on a cellphone talking about an exchange of something taking place upstairs. She’s getting out of her cab now, she should be in soon.”

 

She swivels in her bar stool to stare at the lobby, leaning into his right side while he continues to face the bar. He shifts his focus to her. She’s dressed nicer than he has ever noticed her to, wearing a strapless cocktail dress and heels. As she leans her head toward his ear he hears her hair fall in front of her face. She must’ve left it loose to hide her face when needed, smart. He’s learning that there isn’t much she does without good reason. Just then it strikes him how close they are. Her whole body is completely angled toward him, her head down, giving the illusion they are looking for privacy. She’s going for the couple image while simultaneously keeping herself inconspicuous and hiding him from sight. This calms his insecurities, she’s good at her job, she will keep him safe.

 

The clicking of the heels gets louder and suddenly Jessica’s heart rate does the same. Before he can interpret what is going on with her the heels come to a sudden, dead stop. He feels Jessica tense, whole body still.

 

“Its you.” Is all she has to say to the mystery woman in heels.

 

“Jess….”

 

“Well I didn’t think you could stoop any lower, I guess there’s really nothing you won’t do.” She retorts, more venom in her voice than he has ever heard.

 

“Jess I needed work. You know how acting is.”

 

“No, but I know how you are Trish.”

 

Oh. Shit. He should’ve recognized her, he did meet her. Even helped Jess save her. Why didn’t he recognize her? Her perfume was different, but her gait seems to have also changed, even her heartbeat. He ducks his head further into his drink, trying to look embarrassed by her outburst while hiding his unseeing eyes. He slides his hand to the small of her back under the bar discreetly. The muscles around it tense initially, but he feels her calm slightly under his reassuring touch.

 

“I’ve been calling, I really needed to talk to you.”

 

“I said everything I have to say to you.”

 

“You don’t get it.” she storms forward, heels clacking into the marble flooring, straight into Jessica’s face. Leaning in she whispers “I’ve got.... Abilities. That’s why I’m here, to take these guys down. What are you doing here?”

 

He feels the heat of anger radiating from her, and intense hot fury, causing the fire that he has come to associate her with to turn white hot in his mind. Her whole body starts to pulsate, she quickly turns away from Trish and into him with a violence, causing her to knock her drink off the bar. He grabs it before she can spill a drop, handing it to her carefully. His cover can go to hell at this point, she’s clearly circling the drain and needs him. He listens as she drains the whole thing in one swig, he hands her his own, which is gone in another swig. 

 

“I’m here to get proof that an older actress is pimping out teenage girls for leads in Max’s latest movie, then bring back my client’s runaway daughter. Since you’re the better hero though I guess we’ll be going. Make sure you don’t shoot Abby, her dad really seemed to want her back. I guess that never stopped you in the past though.”

 

In a flash she is dragging him across the lobby to the rotating doors, barely giving him time to get his head pointed at the floor. She nearly barrels him into the glass doors before he can reorient himself, the swift movements send pain through his still healing body and causing him to pant heavily. When she finally realizes his stumbling and stiff movements she stops herself, taking a breath “Sorry. Here take my arm, you set the pace, but we’re going to the first bar you can smell Lassie.”

 

He chuckles “Deal, dive bar ok?”

 

“Just my scene.” He leans into her and she wordlessly takes on most of his weight. He expands his concentration across the streets. There are a lot of upscale bars, but he doesn’t want the attention those attract. And he probably shouldn’t unleash an angry, drunk Jessica Jones on any of these places. He knows he’s walking too slowly to calm her nerves, can still feel the energy flowing off her. His radar focuses in on one specific place, but it’s a good 8 blocks away. The strain causes lightheadedness, he hasn’t had to stretch his sense this far in a long time. He sways, feels her tighten her grip on him.

 

“How does your flying thing work? There’s a promising place on 55th and 9th, but I don’t know if I can make that walk.”

 

“I got it, hold on tight.”

 

\-------

 

Stepping into the bar he can tell it's dark, there’s hardly any hum of electricity. His feet stick to the floor, the smell of stale beer, peanuts, and cigarette smoke assaults his senses. Didn’t they ban smoking 20 years ago in bars? Oh well, this place is perfectly inconspicuous for a blind, walking dead man to drink with a very pissed off woman with super strength.

 

She’s clearly not playing around when she orders herself a bottle and him a double. Not sharing tonight then.

 

He waits for the whiskey to kick in. Judging from the spiral last night then the outburst today there is something bad between Jessica and Trish. From what he remembers in her file they are adoptive sisters, listed in Hogarth’s notes as ‘the only remaining family’. So why the cold greeting? And what was that about gaining powers? It would explain why his sonar didn’t recognize her, why her gait had changed. When he can’t ponder any more without further information he starts with “So you wanna tell me what that was about or you just going to leave me in the dark?”

 

“How would you know the difference.” She snaps.

 

He smirks into his glass “Ouch. My blind jokes must be rubbing off on you.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Don’t be, I like that you don’t treat me like glass.” He finds that he means it after he says it “You and Trish were close back when we were fighting the Hand, it sounded like you hadn’t talked in a while.” He decides it would be safer to go with observations rather than outright questions.

 

She pauses for a long time. He starts assuming she is going to blow him off when she speaks again.

 

“I never told you why…. I went looking for you.” He shakes his head, it was something he’d been too afraid to scare her with asking for a while. “You know from my Hogarth files that my family was killed in a car accident and I woke up with powers?” He nods again, wondering where this is going “Trish’s mom adopted me as a publicity stunt right after. We got close, but Trish was always a little jealous of what my powers could do, it was like she couldn’t see why I had contempt for them.”

 

It’s something that’s painfully obvious, she has contempt for almost everything about herself, but especially her powers. He can relate, considering how he got his own, and how much they made his life a living hell the past few weeks.

 

“Well she became a little obsessed with a past I didn’t want to dig up. Forced me into helping her dig it up actually. It all led me to find out my mother had been a medical experiment too and survived the accident as well, but brain damaged and hidden from me for 17 years.”

 

He feels his stomach drop, doesn’t like where this is going “I know how crazy it sounds, but that’s my life apparently. Anyway she couldn’t control her anger or strength, she would disassociate and fixate on ‘threats’. Trish became one when she convinced my mother’s boyfriend to do what he did to me on her to give her powers. I didn’t think the procedure worked, I stopped it half way through to save her.” She stops to down more whiskey. “Long story short my mom and I were on the run from the cops and Trish took it upon herself to shoot my mother in the head. Now apparently she’s out there being the hero she always thought I should be, with powers she didn’t tell me about.”

 

“Well. Shit.” He is a lawyer, he should be much more eloquent than that.

 

There’s a long pause before she blurts out “I swear I didn’t know the woman we needed pictures of was her, I never would’ve risked your cover. I’m sorry.”

 

He shakes his head quickly “Don’t worry about me, I can handle myself.” He shoots his own glass before signaling to the bartender for another. They sit in silence for a long time, words can’t justify the things she told him tonight. 

 

“It was because of my mom, and I guess  _ him _ too that I went looking. If so many people had been resurrected that shouldn’t deserve it, why not someone who does.” She’s looking at her glass when she says it but he can feel the sincerity rolling off her. She thinks he deserved this resurrection as she calls it. Slowly, he reaches for her hand to offer a comfort he isn’t sure will even help, but she accepts it. 

 

She trusted him, he feels the need to give something back to her “I told you no one in my life accepts what I have to do. Elektra was the only one, maybe that’s why everything was so intense with her, even if she only accepted it because she needed me to accept the darkness in her. So I understand those closest not accepting who you really are or what you need.”

 

“I cut everyone out. Not just pushed Trish away but cut her out of my life. At first it felt terrible, everyone tells you it should feel terrible anyway. But now… I can’t help but feel relieved. Like there is a weight off my shoulder I never even realized I was carrying. I don’t have to walk on eggshells anymore, just waiting to disappoint someone.” 

 

That hit something deep inside. It was the reason he hadn’t called anyone, why he was currently sitting in the darkest bar he could find, trying like hell to hide himself. “You don’t miss them at all?”

 

There’s a long pause. He wonders if he overstepped into unchartered emotional territory for her when she surprises him by answering. “I miss having someone…. Not being alone. These past few weeks have made me realize that being alone was kind of shitty.”

 

That he could definitely relate to, even if he didn’t realize she felt the same. Sharing your life with someone, regardless of their role in it, felt so much better than being alone. Or worse, with people who couldn’t accept you as you were. “Let’s make a deal.” It slips from his lips before he even realizes it.

 

“A what?” She gives him a skeptical stare.

 

“A deal. That we won’t go back to anyone who cannot accept us as we are, anyone who tries to shape us into who they want us to be. Claire. Trish. Malcolm. Foggy.”

 

She stares at him. He is getting a better grasp of her facial expressions and the best way he can describe it as is skeptical.

 

“I don’t need people who can’t accept me when I have a group of people who do. Danny. Colleen. Luke. You.” The last word is barely above a whisper.

 

A beat pases where he feels incredibly vulnerable before he hears her raise her glass “I’ll drink to that.” She sends the first genuine smile of the evening his way, and it takes his breath away.

  
  
  


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	10. Chapter 10

\-------

  
  


She wakes with a start, causing him to as well. He can smell the fear rolling off her, the elevated heart rate, can feel the mattress shaking, tastes the tears in the air.

 

“Hey, you ok?” He says, reaching in her direction.

 

_ “Main Street. Birch Street. Higgins Drive. Cobalt Lane.”  _ He hears her mutter softly. Several minutes pass before he hears some of the tension release from her muscles.

 

She nods her head swiftly “Just a nightmare.”

 

He nods back sympathetically “I get them too, anything I can do?”

 

She sips from her nightstand bottle of whiskey, closes her eyes and breathes deep again. “No, it’ll pass” she extends the bottle to him, knowing it’s his favorite way to relax the stiffness in his hip. He takes a small sip, wondering when waking up to whiskey became his normal. They sit in silence while he concentrates on what her body is sending off. He can still taste the salty tears in the air but they’ve stopped flowing, can smell the sweet smell of a cold sweat rolling off her, even the whiskey that seems to seep from her pores. Her heart rate is skipping around, as if she is desperately trying to get it to calm while it fights her. Listening close he can even hear her muscles creak with the anticipation of a fight. They’ve lived together for a while now, so he is starting to recognize patterns. Stress brings back the nightmares and jumpiness. Last night was certainly stressful enough for her to slip into old habits. He was surprised that they made it home with no problems like the night before. Progress?

 

Suddenly standing up she moves to the kitchen “Want some real food? Or do I have to force feed you more chicken broth?” There’s a forced lightness evident in her tone.

 

None of the other physical signs have dissipated, but she has stopped shaking, which she seems to take as a signal the episode being over. It’s wishful thinking on her part. Denial won’t work forever. As an expert in repressed feelings he knows what is likely to come but decides to play along and deal with it later. He mentally chides himself for them both having such similar coping mechanisms. 

 

“If I never eat chicken broth again it’ll be too soon. What do you have?” He follows her to the office area, stretching out the morning aches that seem to be his new normal, then plopping down on the couch. The smell of coffee is strong from the kitchen, not as strong as the smell of whiskey though.

 

“Whiskey… and more whiskey. I can order something” She returns with two mugs of coffee, handing him one without whiskey.

 

“Bagels?” He says, pleading evident in his voice

 

“I thought you only ate organic?”

 

“I was raised in Hell’s Kitchen, a Bacon, Egg, and Cheese is organic here.”

 

“Can’t argue with that logic.” Grabbing her phone she pulls out an app and punches in a sandwich for herself before handing it to him. He gives her a pointed look before she realizes he can’t use it.

 

“Sorry, it’s easy to forget.”

 

“No need to apologize.”

 

Confirming the order with him she places it with her favorite deli and sits down on the couch next to him. He rotates so his left side is pressed against her right, enjoying the warmth radiating from her. They sip their coffee in a comfortable silence, sharing the morning peace. He keeps his concentration on her, the whiskey is doing its job. Her body starts to relax into his, her weight leaning into him. Just when he feels her head start dozing off on his shoulder a knock comes at the door, startling both of them.

 

It causes her to jump, caught off guard while he fights his own startle response to keep still for her. How did he relax that much to not hear someone approach? He can sense her adrenaline is rising again, a heightened alertness coursing through her body. He gently places a hand on her knee, carefully avoiding her wrists. He had learned the hard way one too many times about grabbing her arms in the past few weeks.

 

“It’s just the food, I can smell the bacon from here.” He says, downplaying her overreaction. Guilt weighs heavily on him, he should have warned her. He never should have let his guard down so much.

 

Taking a deep breath she stands, walking swiftly to the door. She tips the delivery driver before ripping the bag from his hands and slamming the door in his face. Dropping down next to him she plops the bag into his lap. He tears into it greedily, knowing by scent which is his and which is hers. They eat in silence for a while, not acknowledging her still heightened state of alert. She finishes the bottle of whiskey while he drinks both their coffees.

 

The sandwich is perfect, he can’t help but notice she actually eats hers as well. Having an appetite is good, but he can already tell this day is going to be hard for her. It’s been building a while now and it looks like today is the day everything that has been bothering her is going to hit. He wants to help, but how? 

 

“I have an idea.” He says after 20 minutes and she still hasn’t managed to calm her shaky nerves.

 

“Yeah Devil Boy what’s that?”

 

“Do you trust me?”

 

There’s a significant pause “Depends, what is this plan of yours?”

 

He starts walking toward the door “Follow me.” He flashes her his best smirk before opening the door for her.

  
  


\--------

  
  
  


They end up on her roof, him holding her elbow for balance and putting most of his weight from his left side onto her right, exhausted. Stairs could be a real bitch for him.

 

Trust is what got her here. What does that even mean? Trusting him? They fought a war together. Isn’t that enough trust?

 

“Now close your eyes”

 

Looking over to him his face looks completely relaxed. There’s none of that tension in his shoulders she was so used to seeing. There’s a light in his eyes that she likes. When they met, granted it was a shit time in his life, his eyes always appeared empty, and not just because he was blind. As if the person inside had just checked the fuck out. Now there is a light that shines bright, like his soul has been turned back on. 

 

Somehow he can tell she hasn’t closed her eyes yet. “C’mon don’t you trust me?” There’s that word again.

 

She huffs dramatically before snapping her eyes shut, clutching him a little tighter than before.

 

“Now listen, really listen. Try to get your bearings just from what you hear.”

 

At first it doesn’t seem any different, but after a second she notices everything amplifies, as if the volume on the city is turned up. She can hear conversations coming from the open windows below, can hear the clanging of the metal door behind her. She tries to orient herself to her surroundings and realizes just how much she has to interpret. The direction of the wind on her face, how objects move in it, the noises coming from below.

 

She shudders, taking a deep breath. He goes on “Now smell that? The halal truck on the street corner?”

 

“Mhmmm” Is all she can muster. She feels vulnerable, exposed. 

 

“Now switch you focus to your feet, what do you feel?”

 

“It feels like- almost like a humming. Like the city has- a heartbeat?” She says, feeling stupid.

 

“That’s one of the first things I noticed, when I could no longer see. Everything has a heartbeat, it’s like the city itself is alive. I love this city. The sounds, the vibrations, even most of the smells.”

 

“So is this how it is for you all the time?” She starts to realize how important facial reactions are in having a conversation and wonders how much of them he can pick up. He must be in the dark during a lot of conversations.

 

“Well, a little more dramatic. The world is like a puzzle, I constantly have to be putting it together to make a picture for myself. It can be a lot of work, especially filtering out the… unpleasant… parts of the city.”

 

She mulls that over “That does seem like a pain in the ass.”

 

“It can be. That in combination with having to pretend to be legitimately blind takes up a lot of energy. Its like I have to process all this information to find the placement of items in a room, then pretend I don’t know they are there. It’s very relaxing to be with friends that know about me, that I can let my guard down around. Just to be led by someone I trust and not have to interpret the environment. Walking with you for instance is very easy, comfortable even.”

 

The more he talks about how he interprets his world the more she can feel herself relaxing, so this was his ulterior motive. It worked last time in Little Italy. Sharing more than he normally does when she’s on edge is becoming a common practice that she finds actually helps. He could be tactful when the need arises, and for that she is grateful.

 

She opens her eyes to see him smiling at her. Knowing somehow she has opened her eyes he shifts his body to face her. Repositioning her hands so he won’t lose his balance he takes the opportunity to slide his up her arms to her neck, thumbs teasing lightly at her jaw bone.

 

She gulps, frozen in place. Her brain was going a million miles a minute, telling her all the reasons she should not do what she is about to do. But then, she sees him smirk, and she unravels. 

  
  


\---------

  
  


Almost as soon as he feels her heartbeat pause her mouth is on his. His dry and cracked lips slide down to suck at her lower lip while she draws her tongue over his upper lip, asking permission she doesn’t need. He opens his mouth to allow her entrance, and she storms in to aggressively root around for his own tongue. He thinks to himself he won’t ever have to breath ever again as long as they don’t stop.

 

He finally has to pull away first, feeling his heart pound against his rib cage. He pulls her flush against him taking her in as he does. Her heart rate is elevated, she is breathing hard, but there is no longer a scent of fear. Just a mix of hormones, pheromones, and arousal.

 

“You ok?” He asks, huffing and out of breath. This plan had taken a very different turn than he planned out but he couldn’t help himself. She opened herself up and trusted him, and he knows how difficult that is for her. He felt a surge of affection he couldn’t contain once she made the first move. Now with time to breathe the second guessing his brain is so good at starts to swirl around in his mind. He shouldn’t do this. She had only just calmed down. She wasn’t ready for this.

 

She nods and he can feel her lips play into a smile as she moves her cheek against his, whispering into his ear “You really are the devil if the way you kiss is any indication.”

 

His mouth goes dry. He can feel her body getting hotter, the pain in his leg long forgotten, he turns swiftly, taking her hand and leading her to the stairs. They stumble through the metal door before locking their lips again. She tastes of whiskey and coffee, smells of lavender soap.

Pulling away she grabs him into her side and runs down the stairs practically dragging him along. They bang into her door loudly, she presses him against it and restrains him up against it, kissing him deeply again. A tingling shoots down his spine. He knew she was strong but he didn’t know how much of a turn on that could be. 

 

Before he knows it she has them in the bedroom. He leans her back onto the bed, and she pulls him down with her. While they kiss his hands wander down, under her tank top, skimming the top of her jeans. He hears her gasp, her heart fluttering. Gliding his hands up her rib cage he fingers the line of her bra, sliding all the way around to her back until he reaches the clip, popping it with one hand.

 

“Well practiced aren’t you counselor?”

 

“No comment Jones.” He feels her smile as they return to kissing, her hips grinding against his. He moans deep into her mouth when his hands make their way back to her now free breasts. She tears away to pull her shirt over her head while he messages. When her breathing escalates to just the right speed he moves his hands slowly down her stomach, his mouth moving to her nipples. He teases them for just a second before moving down, trailing kisses across her stomach before unbuttoning her jeans. As he goes he listens intently, just to make sure everything he is doing is appreciated. Right now, the only signals he is receiving are those of anticipation. Perfect.

 

Pulling off her skin tight jeans proves to be a struggle that she finds funny until he places a well planned kiss right on her left thigh. She gasps, heart rate spiking, while he smiles, loving the effect he has on her. Getting right to work he parts her legs and dives in between them, soaking in her taste. He teases her lightly at first, until she moans, begging him. Increasing pace but not pressure he is rewarded by an arch of her back. She grabs his hair before he releases all tension and gives what she begged him for.

 

He falls back next to her as she rides the aftershocks. When her pulse comes back down she rolls on top of him, smiling into his face. He loves that smile, even if he can’t truly see it.

 

“You should smile more, Jessica.”

 

The world stops around them. Her breathing hitches, her heart rate instantly spikes, and he can smell the fear in the air. Her body is tense on top of him and he can feel her start to shake.

 

“Jess, what’s wrong? Did I say something?”

 

He hears her mutter under her breath  _ “Main Street. Birch Street. Higgins Drive. Cobalt Lane.” _

 

She pushes off him hard and suddenly she's on the floor in the corner of the room, knees drawn to her chest, fingers wrapped tight around the sheet she brought with her.

 

He sits up slowly, trying not to spook her, listening intently. He has never seen her this bad. Her whole body is like a trigger on a gun, pulled tight and ready to go off at the slightest threat. She is still muttering the same mantra under her breath.

 

He reflects back on the stress of the past few days, then back onto the files he read from Hogarth. They went into her time with killgrave in painful detail. He had to have done something to bring back the memories, but he couldn’t fathom what. Reaching behind him he pulls the whiskey bottle from the nightstand, tossing it to her when he knows she is looking. She downs the whole bottle in a matter of gulps. He sits still, waiting. Knowing its not his place to do anything yet.

 

It feels like an eternity before she speaks “You… read my files. From Hogarth.”

 

“Yes, I did.”

 

“So you know about… him. I didn’t leave much out, just details that were insignificant to the case but… rather upsetting on a personal note”

 

He nods, waiting. She’ll be ready when she’s ready.

 

“He used to say my name in this cadence  _ Jessi-cah. _ And his favorite command was  _ ‘Smile Jessi-cah _ ”

 

The weight of her worlds feels like the weight of a building on his shoulders. Worse actually, since he already survived that. He meant it as a compliment, but in one sentence he had shattered her control, something she had obviously worked hard to win back. He shakes his head. He could be so stupid. She had already been on edge from last night, then the nightmare, then the scare of the delivery driver, and now he says  _ that _ . After sex, her most vulnerable time. What was he  _ thinking _ ?

 

“Murdock, it’s fine. I’ll be fine. I just- need a minute.”

 

He nods, not trusting his voice, feeling his whole body vibrate with anger. How dare something like this happen to her. She didn’t deserve it, any of it. Especially to be haunted by it now, after so long. Thinking back over the details he had read, the account of the year she spent under his control in her own words he starts to visibly shake with a full blown rage. Her total loss of control. The psychological torture. The isolation from everyone in her life, including Trish. Manipulation of her life after she got away. The physical torture and… rape. A desperate need comes over him. To put on the suit. To hear the crunch of bone against his fists. To kill an already dead man for a woman who doesn’t need anyone to defend her. His grandmother was right, he can feel the devil rising inside him.

 

“Murdock.”

 

He realizes she has said his name several times before heard her.

 

“Yeah.” His voice comes out as a growl.

 

“I can see you spiraling. It's not your fault.”

 

He opens up her old buried wounds, sending into a full blown panic attack, and here she is, the one telling  _ him _ it’s ok. He works hard to mentally tamper down his rage, losing his cool now would not help anyone, least of all her. Mentally he pushes the swell of anger down out of his chest until he can think clearly again.  _ Get up Matty, work to do. _ At that he gets out of bed, walking slowly toward her and crouching down, extending his hand. “Let me help.” An open invite.

 

She swallows before reaching a shaking hand to meet his. He gives a small squeeze, gently pulling her to her feet. Her hands quiver but she follows his lead to the bed. He lays down first, giving her the choice to follow him. He opens up his arm, offering her the spot in his side that she has claimed as her own. Only hesitating for a second she lowers herself down next to him, still wrapped in the sheet. Apprehensively she folds herself in; laying her head on his clavicle, hand on his sternum, and leg folded over his. He holds her hand gently while drawing small circles on her lower back. This position is his favorite, and she seems to calm slightly.

 

“Mind if I ask what that mantra is?” Talking had worked the previous times she was triggered, he was hoping it would help this time as well.  

 

She takes in a shaky breath before answering “When I thought he was dead the first time I showed up on Trish’s balcony, covered in blood. It was the first time I had seen her since he had found me a year before. I told her everything and she sent me straight to a shrink. It didn’t work out, I couldn’t exactly tell the therapist I was being mind controlled into being raped and doing terrible things for a year. But I did take one good thing away. To pull out of a full on panic attack she taught me a trick, a ‘coping mechanism’. I think of the name of the street I grew up on as a kid, picturing the sign. Then the next one and so forth until I come out of it. I can only remember four so I go through those in my head until I can talk myself out of it.”

 

He nods “Is there anything I can do to help?”

 

Pausing, she answers hesitantly “Right now, just this.”

 

“Ok” He replies, settling in. He listens to her body more intently than he has ever listened to anyone. Her heart practically beating out of her chest, breathing short and ragged, he can even smell the fear and adrenaline rolling off her in waves. He feels her muscles pulsate while she shakes next to him. He continues rubbing her back, wishing he could do more. Wishing he could take the memories themselves away.

 

“Could you… Just talk? I need to hear something other than his voice.”

 

He feels a stab in his chest for the tricks her mind is playing on her. “You’re in luck Miss Jones, as a lawyer I can quite literally talk forever.”

 

It takes more than an hour of detailed descriptions and history of NYC equal housing act, but eventually he hears her breathing steady. As he focuses on her he feels her body shift from a state of hyper awareness to a state of dark defeat, heavy in his arms. The episode has exhausted her. Over the last few weeks he has witnessed her in every state imaginable, but he never thought he could see someone so strong be so defeated. And he caused it. The knowledge crushes him.

 

“Thank you.” She whispers into his chest.

 

“You’re thanking me for giving you a panic attack.” Self deprecation thick in his voice.

 

“I have panic attacks everyday, it isn’t your fault. If it hadn’t been that something else would’ve triggered it, I could feel it coming all day. I am thanking you for helping, not leaving, or trying to push me.”

 

He turns his head so his ear is close to her. “What do you mean?”

 

She pauses, lower lip between her teeth in a pose of concentration “Malcolm and Trish, they always tried to control me. Constantly thinking they knew what was best when I was like this, or even just controlling the decisions I made. It made everything a lot worse, the controlling. That’s what was so wrong about him to begin with.” Her breath catches at the mention of  _ him. _ _.  _ She pauses to resteady herself “They were always pushing me to do the right thing, taking over if I wasn’t doing what they thought was right. They never seemed to see I was doing my best, that I was drowning and keeping my head above water took all the energy I could muster. They demanded more than I could give. I just… sometimes I need to just not do something and have that be ok. Sure they were there for me, but in a selfish way, never in the way I needed. This…. This right here makes it more manageable. If I’m using your word. So thank you.”

 

Everytime she talks about her relationship with Malcolm and Trish self awareness hits him hard. This was exactly what Karen and Foggy had been doing with him. He had never been able to put it into words before.

 

“That’s why I’ve been afraid to call Karen and Foggy. I never seemed to be enough for them. They always wanted me to put the devil away, but its such a part of me. They don’t realize in rejecting what I do at night they’re rejecting me too.”

 

She draws in a shaky breath “Good thing we have each other” she says it as though she is unsure it’s ok to say it outloud.

 

He smiles what he hopes is a reassuring smile “Yes, a very good thing.”

 

He kisses her forehead, then waits for the rhythmic breathing he has come to associate with her sleep.

  
  


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	11. Chapter 11

\--------

 

When she wakes up she is surprised to find they both slept well into the next day, nearly a full 24 hours. It was a dreamless sleep and she is in the same position she had originally nestled into. She feels significantly more grounded than the day before. Her muscles are tight, but she no longer has that shaky feeling. Her head is moving up and down softly as Matt’s chest expands and deflates. Listening close she can hear the soft exhale coming from his nose, gently moving her hair. They’re both covered in sweat but she can’t help but revel in the comforting warmth radiating from his body.

 

Drowsy and disoriented she peels her sweat soaked face from Matt’s bare chest, looking at the time and date on her phone. She’s got text messages from Trish, they can wait. A fluttery panic raises in her chest when she thinks more about the day before. The walls of the apartment start to shrink in her mind, suffocating her. The familiar jittery feeling follows it and she suddenly is engulfed by the urge to run. To get as far away as possible from this bed. This stifling room. This apartment. This building. This man. She takes in a deep breath to steady herself.  _ I will not bail on him. _ Focusing on the feeling of his skin on hers she feels herself come back down to reality, using his body as an anchor. Once the feeling of panic has been pushed out of her mind she looks up to Matt, sure her moment of panic would have woken him.

 

He smiles down at her “Good morning” His chest rumbles under her as he speaks, the feeling is comforting. His hair is tousled, his face once again sporting a 5 o’clock shadow. Even like this he is incredibly attractive, but that has more to do with the way he ‘looks’ at her than his physical appearance. Like she is the most important part of his morning. Her heart swells, she can’t imagine being anywhere else right now.

 

“Morning.” 

 

He shifts to kiss her temple. “You slept through the night. It’s the first time I’ve seen you do that.”

 

She grumbles but can’t keep the smile from spreading across her face. He reaches up, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear. “You ok?”

 

“Fine now.”

 

Pushing herself up her lips meet him, placing a gentle kiss on his. An appreciative moan escapes his mouth before he deepens the kiss, his tongue rooting around her mouth. She loses herself in the taste of him, it’s like he knows every pressure point she has and bounces between them completely unraveling her. She shifts her body until she is on top of him, giving her a better angle. As she pulls back she nips gently on his lip, can feel the small gasp that draws from him. Moving down she peppers kisses across his jawbone, sliding to his neck to suck on his clavicle. His breathing stops.

 

“If I remember correctly I owe you for yesterday.” She says before repositioning to do the same on the other side.

 

He stops, reaching for her chin he lifts her face to ‘look’ into her eyes. His are soft but clouded with a tone of earnest “Jess you don’t owe me anything. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

 

God he could be too serious sometimes “And what if I do. Want to that is…”

 

The cloud of seriousness disappears from his face, a playfulness that she rarely sees replacing it. She loves that look. “Then I would suggest the shower since this bedroom has to be 95 degrees.”

 

“I like how you think counselor.” 

 

She pushes herself out of bed then holds out a hand for him. With a little more force than necessary she pulls him to his feet. His face flushes and his mouth attacks hers again. He gets off on her strength and she has to admit that’s hot. She stumbles backward toward the bathroom, pulling him with her. He was definitely right, her bedroom was a sweat box. 

 

She positions him to sit on the side of the tub while she works on getting the water to flow. A very intricate technique of banging on certain pipes earns her a small spurt from the shower head. She releases a huff of impatience, this is not the time for her apartment to malfunction. Looking down she can see a grimace on his face, the mornings were the hardest on him. Guilt washes over her, if they hadn’t slept so long he wouldn’t be so stiff. Thinking about how they woke up she realizes she pinned him to one position for a full 24 hours. She grabs her shower whiskey and hands it to him. He laughs at her before sipping.

 

“Sorry, you could’ve woken me.”

 

She watches his throat as he swallows, his adam's apple bobbing. She swallows too. Hard. “You haven’t slept that peacefully in who knows how long, there was no way I was waking you. Plus, as you know, I am a hopeless romantic and love cuddling.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “You’re hopeless alright. Seriously though, next time just move me.”

 

“Never.” He cocks his head at a sharp angle “So…. there’s going to be a next time?”

 

Her eyes roll again “Well we’ve been at this a few weeks.” Evasion, always her favorite way to answer his questions.

 

“You know what I mean.” When she scoffs he continues “I know I pushed too hard a few days ago, and you might have assumed it was the whiskey talking, but I meant what I said. I won’t say it again until I know you’re ready.” His head cocks to the other side, listening to her “And as of right now you’re not. But if I’m correct you’re… still not bailing?” He started out confident but by the end of his statement he voice is soft, full of doubt.

 

She breathes heavily, cursing him for being the only man she’s ever met who demands to define a relationship right before having sex. The old instincts of fleeing on sight return, but she fights to tamper them down. She was done running, living life alone was not actually living and she had learned that many times over. “I told you Murdock, I am not bailing on you. I’m in if you are.” She sits down next to him and watches the goofy grin that spreads across his face. 

 

She reaches out and lifts his shirt over his head, catching his lips once it is off. It starts off soft and chaste before she pushes to deepen it. The smell of him that previously brought a sense of comfort to her is doing something else entirely now. Her hands glide over his chiseled body, all firm, harsh curves. A fire is ignited in her abdomen as he does the same exploration of her skin, his hands scraping up her back before weaving through her hair.

 

His hands glide back down to her waist to remove her shirt, she didn’t even remember putting a sleep shirt before they fell asleep. When he drops it on the floor she realizes it’s a shirt she has never seen before.

 

“Did you… dress me?”

 

He fidgets awkwardly “I figured you wouldn’t take to waking up so… vulnerable. So I grabbed it from Danny’s stockpile. It was in the drawer of the nightstand, that way I didn’t have to move you.”

 

Her teeth clench down on her bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood. He could be so thoughtful, there was no way she deserved him. Has anyone ever cared this much for her? His face changes. Of course he knew she was bleeding, he lifts his thumb up to wipe away the blood. “I hope that was ok with you.”

 

“Jesus Mudrock, you’re almost too considerate.” Before he can speak her lips crash into his, into a messy kiss. Blood flows into their mouths, her lip dripping it onto their tongues. Her hands move to his waist, stripping him of his pants as she maneuvers him into the tub. The water is cool and refreshing on their bare skin.

 

Ripping her mouth from his she asks “Can you stand?” She is straddling his hip and can feel it quiver, she can tell this is not comfortable for him.

 

“I-I don’t think so.” She bites her lip again thinking. In one swift movement she rotates them so he is on top. He smiles down on her before returning to devouring her lips, grinding his hips against hers just light enough to cause her to shudder. Fuck he loved to tease her.

 

“Condom?” He says as he is gasping for breath in between kisses.

 

“No need, I’m covered.” She reaches behind his head to pull his mouth back to hers. Enough with the logistics, she needed him to get to business. But of course, he just moves his mouth to tease her nipples, chuckling at her noises of impatience. His tongue works light circles around her breast, causing a fire to grow in her. 

 

“Maaaatt.” Her voice is pleading, his mouth returns to hers as his hips lower. He grinds gently and she moans. She can barely handle it, his hand slides down to tease her even more. While his tongue works fast in her mouth his fingers glide against her slowly, barely applying pressure. Just when she thinks she can’t take it anymore she feels him enter. Her mouth opens in surprise and satisfaction.  _ Finally _ .

 

He starts slow, his fingers still gliding over her in the same rhythm as his hips. The rational side of her brain was melting, until finally all she can see is white as she rides the waves of the longest orgasm she has ever experienced. She hears him gasp as he does the same, then feels his body relax on top of her once they had both finished.

 

He raises his hand to her face and cups her jaw. Leaning forward he places a kiss on her forehead then presses his forehead against hers. Calm washes over her and she relaxes under the comfort of his weight. She can feel the beat of his heart against her own ribcage, letting his comforting warmth seep into her body. The cold water is pounding down hard on their bodies now, making their skin slick.

 

“You know, right?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You know… what I can’t say.”

 

She feels him take a deep breath while his lips pull into a smile against her face “Of course Jess, of course I know. And you don’t have to say it.”

 

And that was why she loved him. Because he was Matt. He knew when to push her and when not to. He knew everything she felt but could not say. He knew her and how to be with her.She closes her eyes and revels in the moment, completely content with where they are.

  
  


\------

  
  


Another two weeks go by before he attempts to move out. His hip is stiff, but he can walk normally enough now. Everything else has healed, yet he hesitates. These last two weeks had been some of the happiest he has had. Jessica had been taking him out on cases to keep him from going stir crazy and help keep the stiffness at bay. He told her what he could hear from the cheating couples while she took pictures with her long lens. At night they have sex and drink whiskey in her bed. They even talk on those nights. She has apparently become friends with Colleen, they go double dating with her and Danny, though she would kill them all if they called it that. They don’t let fake friends complicate any of what they have together. It is the closest thing to a happiness he has had in years.

 

She walks in with a small bag for him with a suit, glasses, and cane. All the props he needed to return to the life of Matthew Murdock. Everything except….

 

“Come with me.”

 

She freezes mid stride, he hears her coffee slip from her hand spilling onto the ground. His own heart stops, not believing he actually said that outloud.

 

“What?” Her voice is harsh, on the defensive.

 

“Stay with me. In my apartment. Use this place as an office, spend the nights with me.” He says it quietly, insecurity thick in his voice.

 

She fidgets in her spot, toeing her boot into the floorboards. He hears her hair falling loosely in front of her face, hand coming up to brush it away from her eyes. She studies him, skeptically. The scrutiny is eating him alive, he suddenly understands how Foggy and Karen feel under his own study. Open, raw, vulnerable.

 

“Why?” Her voice soft this time, nearly breaking.

 

Breathing in deeply he decides to jump in with both feet “I have been so isolated, even I didn’t really know the true extent until now. I have a feeling you can relate” He cocks his head toward her, hears her scoff in reply “No one understands the way you do, no one accepts me for what I am without demanding more than I can give. This month has been hard, but we did it together. Now I can’t imagine not taking on everyday alone, ever again.”

 

There is a significant pause before she speaks again, but he has come to expect that. “It’s going to get harder. I am not an easy person, this isn’t the worst of it.”

 

He shakes his head at her warning “And I’m an easy person? I’m a goddamn mess, a human disaster. You’ve seen all of me and you’re still here. Let me do the same for you. Let’s do it for each other, every day-” Suddenly he is interrupted by her lips on his, when did she get so close? How did she surprise him? His thoughts go black as she nips on his bottom lip, causing him to let out a small gasp.

 

When she pulls back she’s smiling, that genuine smile he loves so much “Sorry, but I couldn’t listen to that rom com plagerized speech for one more second.”

 

He knows the smile that statement invokes is geeky and too bright, but he can’t stop himself. “Does that mean you’ll come with me?”

 

She picks up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. When did she pack a bag? “Only because you have the better apartment, and those sheets are to die for”

 

“Wait, when were you in my sheets?” He feels his brow furrow.

 

She grabs him by the collar, pulling him close. Her voice turns flirtatious “I might’ve tested them out when I dropped by earlier. Had to be sure they were worth waking up next to your ugly mug every morning.”

 

“So you planned this all along?” He says, amusement in his voice

 

“Well I didn’t feel the need to talk about it or give a big speech, kind of thought it was a given. But I always knew you were the romantic so it shouldn’t have surprised me”

 

As he walks down the hallway, arm hooked around her elbow, he thinks about how he could keep up this jeering banter forever if it meant she would sleep in his bed every night. “Whatever you say Jones.”

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am already more than halfway done with the sequel and will start posting it soon but I had a lot of fun writing this. Your comments really kept me going, thank you to all who reviewed!


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